


The Shadowy Corners

by Kedavranox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Coercion, Down on his luck!Draco, Emotional Hurt, M/M, Mpreg, Rentboys, auror!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:05:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedavranox/pseuds/Kedavranox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after the war, Draco is still struggling to survive. Living in squalor and under heavy Ministry restrictions, Draco takes Pansy's advice on an option he had never thought to consider before. A means to regain everything he lost and more, courtesy of the wizarding hero --Harry Potter.<br/>(Originally  posted <a href="http://harrydracompreg.livejournal.com/232466.html">here</a>. Written for the H/D Mpreg Fest 2013)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shadowy Corners

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took a long while to come, but I’m glad it did. Thank you, Kitty, for being so patient with me. The title and epigraph of this fic both come from Landon Pigg’s ‘Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop’. Thanks also to my betas and cheerleaders, particularly [](http://all-not-well.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://all-not-well.dreamwidth.org/)**all_not_well** for getting through this so quickly.

_All of the while,_   
_it was you_

  
Draco turns over in his bed, and the old, lumpy spring mattress squeaks. He groans, lifting his arms over his head to stretch out the kinks in his back. He desperately wants to close his eyes and settle back into sleep, but he can’t.

Nothing about this day is going to be worth waking up for.

A small, delicate hand reaches out from the covers bunched up beside him, sliding onto his chest and slowly making its way down his torso.

‘Pansy...’ he says in a warning tone.

Pansy pulls the blanket off her head, and gives him an innocent stare. It doesn’t work for her, she’s still wearing last night’s makeup and her eyeliner is smudged beneath her eyes, making her look much older and wearier than she is. He gives her a look, and she raises her brow.

‘What? You know you love it when I make you come in the morning.’

She snakes her hand beneath his pyjama bottoms and wraps her fingers around his cock. He groans as she starts to slowly stroke his morning erection.

‘Just let me make you come, Draco,’ she says in a low, breathy voice. ‘It’s what I’m good at, after all.’

He relaxes beneath her and drops his head back against the pillow, gripping the bed sheets tightly. She pushes off her blankets completely and swings her leg over him, lifting her naked body off the bed, settling down between his legs to suck his cock.

He rests his hand lightly on her hair as she goes to work on him, releasing a few breathy moans and bucking his hips every so often. She’s right, of course. This is what she’s good at. She’s been good at it ever since they were fourteen and too stuffed up with hormones to deny themselves what is, and will always be, a spectacularly bad idea. But, as he’s learned through the years, resistance is futile.

She sucks his cock right down to the hilt, and nuzzles her nose in his dark blond pubes. Draco combs his fingers through her hair, and she moans around his cock. The vibrations are almost enough to make him come, and when she gently works her finger into his arse and searches out his prostate, he bucks up into her mouth, arching his back off the bed.

‘ _Fuck_ , Pansy.’

She bobs her head and he grips the sheets every time his cock slips straight down her throat. Her gag reflex is almost nonexistent. She keeps massaging his prostate until his orgasm startles them both, and he spills his come down her throat. She swallows it all and lifts off of his cock, grinning and loosely stroking the last spasms of his orgasm out of him with her hand.

She climbs up the length his body and kisses him, letting him taste himself in her mouth. She presses her breasts into his chest, and he lets her kiss him for a moment longer before pulling away. ‘Pans, come on. Stop now.’

She sighs and rolls off his body, lying next to him, naked and flushed. He swings his legs off the side of the bed and runs his fingers through his, long messy hair.

‘I have a job today,’ he says, not looking at her.

Pansy sighs. ‘Not for Burke.’

He tosses her a look over his shoulder. ‘The rent on the flat is due tomorrow. Last month’s rent.’

‘Draco, you’re going to get yourself killed.’

‘He pays me, all right? We need the fucking money.’

‘If only you would come to the club. You would make more than I ever could in one night alone.’

‘Pansy, I’m never going to do that, so stop asking.’

He stands up and walks over to their little kitchenette on the opposite side of the room. He looks out the window with a scowl. The place is such a fucking dump. He and Pansy share one room, one bed. They share the bathroom with two other tenants down the hall. All remnants of Dark families cast aside after the war. The room is above one of the seediest night clubs in Knockturn alley, where Pansy occasionally takes a John or two to keep herself fed and clothed.

He looks down at the almost deserted street, at the upended rubbish bins and the grime- streaked cobblestones, at the smoke rising from the manholes. He hates what everything has become for him. Some days, he wonders if it would be easier just letting them win. Let the Ministry and all the fucking hypocrites of the wizarding world have their last hurrah over his grave. He reaches into the jar behind the sugar and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it quickly on the hob. It’s about 7 in the morning, so he’ll have to wait a bit before he can use the bath. Over the last few years, they’d all created a routine of sorts. First the apothecary, who also happens to be a werewolf, then Draco and Pansy who occasionally save time and just shower together, and then the young couple down the hall and their son. .

He takes a deep drag of the cigarette in his mouth and scratches the skin under his jaw. He hardly ever finds the time to make a proper shave, opting for Charms that never really do the job. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the manor, with his old cut throat razor, and a House Elf holding up his bowl of shaving cream and hot water. Pansy walks up behind him, pressing her naked breasts into his back and wrapping her arms around his middle.

‘You’ll be careful, won’t you? Especially with the Aurors about so much lately. If they catch you working for Burke, you’ll be sent to Azkaban for violating your probation.’

He looks out the window and sucks deeply on his fag, closing his eyes and savouring the burn.

‘I will.’

 

 

:::

Burke doesn’t look up from what he’s doing when Draco walks into the shop that morning. He only points at the bundle next to the till and grunts. ‘Delivery. Same place East End. Don’t be late.’

‘How much do I collect?’

‘50 Galleons.’

Draco nods, snatches up the bag, and leaves.

 

 

 

He walks out to Diagon alley and pulls the hood of his robes up over his head. He’d give up his wand for something to eat. He gave his last few sickles to Pansy and told her to get herself a decent breakfast. But he hasn’t eaten for two days and he’s starting to feel its lack. He’s a little light-headed and unsteady, but he straightens his spine and keeps moving forward --like his father would have done. He passes the few open shops and eyes the freshly baked bread covetously, then he forces himself to look away and try his best to ignore the hunger pangs and the urge to pass out. It’ll go away. Just like everything else.

He heads to the exit into Muggle London and taps the brick with his wand, breathing shallow breaths and trying to pretend he doesn’t notice the scent of food wafting from the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron. He heads straight for the Floo, head bowed. Of course, at this time in the morning there’s a line, and Draco settles in to wait when someone steps out of the flames in a heap of scarlet robes and knocks Draco flat on his back.

‘Watch it, you tosser!’ Draco yells, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing his elbow. His head is spinning.

‘Oh, shit, I’m sorry. It’s just...I’m just rubbish with the Floo.’

Draco looks up, and there in his scarlet Auror robes, is Harry Potter, reaching out his arm to help him up. His hair is dishevelled and his glasses hang crookedly off his nose. He makes an impressive figure in his Auror robes; he seems much taller than Draco remembered. He has almost a day’s worth of stubble on his face and his famous scar is hidden under tufts of his unruly black hair that fall onto his forehead. Draco ignores the proffered hand and stands on his own, dusting himself off and looking away quickly. The last thing he needs is for the Ministry’s favourite Auror to start watching him too closely, especially when he’s in possession of Dark artefacts that definitely violate his probation.

‘Forget it, Potter,’ he says, stepping backwards. He can feel Potter’s eyes boring into the back of his skull as he walks away, but Draco doesn’t look back.

 

 

 

Burke always arranges for his drop offs to be in the worst parts of Muggle London. Usually, Draco wouldn’t be caught dead walking around the deserted, dank streets, but a drop like this is usually worth at least 5 Galleons, and he needs the money desperately. He’s shrunken his Wizard robes, wearing only his jeans and a black hooded sweater, with the hood pulled up over his head and eyes. He’s not even sure what he’s delivering today, only that it’s dark, highly illegal by the cost of it, and very small. He walks to the usual drop off point and leans up against the brick wall, pulling out a cigarette and discreetly lighting it with his wand. It’s his usual signal for whoever’s making the pickup that the package is there.

He holds the cigarette between his fingertips and sucks in a deep drag. Sometimes he feels like the rush of nicotine in his veins is better than sex. Better than catching the snitch from right under Potter’s nose. Not that he’s ever done so, but he imagines the feeling won’t quite compare.

A rustle in the bushes next to him makes him straighten up, and then three robed figures slink out of shadows and descend upon him. Most of Burke’s clients deal on the Black Market, selling artefacts and Dark spells to the old families, sometimes even Muggles. Draco tries not to think about where most of the objects he delivers end up. He can’t bother himself with the details when he’s doing what he must to survive. He stubs out the cigarette on the wall behind him and nods to the Wizard closest to him. He’s done deals with this one before. The other two behind him are new. Muggleborns, perhaps, unable to find their place in the wizarding world even after the war. The Wizard closest to him, Rüdiger, is from a prominent Dark, Pureblood family in Germany.

‘Malfoy,’ he says shortly, reaching out his arm for his package.

Draco hands him the small bag and folds his arms across his chest, waiting for inspection.

Rüdiger opens the bag slowly and peeks inside, and then he frowns. ‘Is this all? Are you fucking with us, Malfoy?’

Draco feels his stomach turn to ice as Rüdiger’s two associates move closer to him. He can’t defend himself, not with the restrictions the Ministry placed on his wand as part of his probation.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he says easily, trying not to betray the tremor in his voice. ‘You know I just deliver what he gives me, Rüdiger.’

Rüdiger nods to the other wizards and they push Draco’s back up against the wall, holding his arm out on either side.

Rüdiger moves closer to him, pushing his hood back and exposing his face. His hair is dark and lank, plastered onto his forehead with sweat. He leans into Draco, his sour breath puffing against Draco’s cheek.

‘It’ll be a shame to hurt something so beautiful, don’t you think, boys?’

The other two wizards grunt and the shorter one laughs, shooting Draco a disgusting leer. Rüdiger shoves his knee between Draco’s legs, pressing against the swell of his cock in his jeans, leaning in and licking a hot stripe up the side of Draco’s Adam’s apple. Draco rears back and spits in his face.

Rüdiger growls, and quickly cleans his cheeks with a vanishing spell. ‘I think I’ll leave a message for Burke on your pretty little face, Malfoy. Let him know not to fuck with me again.’

Draco says nothing; he only stares defiantly at Rüdiger, daring him to touch him.

Rüdiger rears back and punches him hard in the stomach, and Draco doubles over. Rüdiger grabs his hair and pulls his head up.

‘I never liked to use magic for pain,’ he says. ‘I like to leave my mark in the flesh.’

Draco coughs and the other wizards yank his arm to lift him up again. ‘You tell Burke, that when I make an order, I want it all. Not just half. He’s not getting paid till I get what I asked for.’

Draco closes his eyes briefly. If he doesn’t take the gold to Burke, then it’ll come out of his next pay, and he’s already backlogged as it is. The odds are better for him if he doesn’t return to Burke at all. But then Draco knows, Burke will send someone to find him. He hasn’t a moment to think on it, because Rüdiger slaps him hard across the face.

‘You like that, don’t you, Malfoy? Like getting slapped in the face like the little bitch you are.’

_‘Fuck you.’_

‘Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you. Everyone knows you’re a little cumslut. Zabini says you’re the best cocksucker he’s ever met.’

‘Zabini’s a fucking twat.’

‘Maybe so,’ Rüdiger says. ‘But maybe you’d like to suck my cock anyway.’

‘You put your cock anywhere near me and I’ll rip it off with my teeth.’

Rüdiger’s expression darkens and he knees Draco in the chest hard enough that Draco falls to the ground, holding his stomach. Rüdiger leans over him. ‘You never did know when to shut up, did you, Malfoy?’

And then he kicks his boot into Draco’s chest, again and again, until Draco can feel nothing but the pain.

 

 

 

The streets of Diagon Alley are filled with the morning rush of people carrying on their daily business, and Harry stifles the urge to pull his hood over his head and hide from their prying eyes. Everyone glances at him, eyes wide; a few actually stop him to shake his hand. No one lets him simply walk by and get on with his day like a normal person. He’s already on edge from his run-in with Malfoy of all people. Malfoy, who didn’t even seem to want to look at him for too long.

Harry rolls his eyes, trying to forget about their brief encounter, but he can’t shake Malfoy’s image from his brain. He looked thin. Too thin, like he did back in sixth year. Harry never really knew what happened to Malfoy, only that his mother fled England once her short probation was up, and his father is due to be released from Azkaban in a few months. He knew Malfoy was still under probation from the Ministry, restricted to England, his wand tagged and Limited. Harry knew they lost the Manor and most of their possessions during their trials, but then Malfoy disappeared and Harry hadn’t heard much of him since.

He heard loads about Parkinson though. He knew she was working in the sex-club in Knockturn Alley, turning a few tricks whenever she needed the money. He wonders if Malfoy ever does the same. The thought fills him with unease and spark of irrational jealousy that he tries his best to snuff out quickly. It’s plainly ridiculous that he still thinks of Malfoy in that way from time to time. He shakes his head; it’s high time for him to let go of a stupid school-boy crush. It’s obvious Malfoy wouldn’t be the least bit interested from the way he acted earlier. As though Harry wasn’t even worth a glance. But Harry still can’t shake the image of him, hood pulled over his head, his white blond hair peeking out, long and soft, and those eyes―God. Malfoy’s eyes still make his pulse race. It’s as if he’s sixteen all over again.

He rolls his eyes and keeps walking. It’s ridiculous really, that he should be having these thoughts while making his way to his boyfriend’s flat. Terry had an early shift this morning, so Harry thought he’d pop-in with breakfast as a surprise since he’d had to cancel their last two dates because of work. He stops by the tuck shop for breakfast, and braces against all the curious looks as he orders two quiche pies and a large coffee he and Terry can share. They’d been dating the last year and a half, and Harry’s been slowly working up the nerve to finally ask Terry to move into his flat in London.

He’s been putting it off for different reasons. First off Ron isn’t too fond of Terry, for whatever reason, claiming that Terry’s not good enough for him and ‘There’s something about the look in his eyes.’ Harry, for the most part, has learned to ignore this, knowing that Ron’s entirely too suspicious for his own good. Especially when it comes to Harry’s welfare. Sometimes he jokes that Ron see’s him as his little sister, more so even now that Ginny moved to America three years ago to study Muggle medicine. While he knows he loves Terry -actually Hermione says smitten is the right word- he sometimes wonders if Terry is really the one he wants to settle with.

Lately, he’s been trying to find reasons to look past his doubt. He’s almost 33 now, and he’d like very much to settle down with _someone_ and maybe start a family. Terry _gets_ him. He doesn’t push when Harry doesn’t feel like talking, he never asks Harry to talk about the war, like everyone else thinks he should be. He isn’t one of those boyfriends who needs to be by his side _all the time_. He isn’t blinded by Harry’s fame. He’s an excellent top, and they’re more than sexually compatible. Harry still has the bruises on his back to prove it. Most all, Harry loves him. He feels comfortable with Terry, even if he doesn’t always do things the way Harry would like, or the fact that Terry never makes an effort with Ron and he’s sometimes impatient with Teddy when the boy gets into a strop. Surely he’s not looking for perfection? Shouldn’t it be all right for his mate to have some flaws?

Harry collects his quiche from the counter and smiles as the cashier hands him his change with shaking fingers. ‘Here you go, Mr. Potter,’ she says in a shaky, terrified voice, and Harry just wants to tell her, ‘It’s okay to talk to me, I’m human!’ Instead, he just grabs his bags, gives her an awkward smile, and then turns to leave.

Terry lives in a small flat above Flourish and Blotts, and Harry has to slip into a dark alleyway so he can reach the winding side stair that leads straight up to the side-entrance. He presses his hand against the door and the wards recognise him easily, swirling gently around his hand before releasing the locks with a few soft clicks. The doorway leads straight into the kitchen, and Harry drops their breakfast on the table, shucking off of his robes and draping it across the wooden chair. The flat is oddly quiet, and Harry smiles to himself, because he knows Terry is probably still sleeping. Ever the Ravenclaw, he was probably studying all night for the last of his exams at St. Mungo’s. He’s lucky Harry had a mind to stop by, else he would’ve definitely been late for work.

‘Terry?’ Harry calls out, taking off his gloves and resting them on the table. Terry’s kitchen is a mismatch of vintage and modern, Muggle and Magical. His breakfast table is simply a slab of wood on top two large, concrete stones, and his countertop is made of thick, white marble. It’s covered in random dishes, two plates in the sink, and two empty whisky tumblers. Harry frowns and picks one up. Terry doesn’t usually drink whiskey. He always said it made his stomach too tender in the mornings

Harry walks down the hall and knocks on Terry’s door and poking his head in when it creaks open.

‘Terry-?’

Terry’s head is just barely peeking out of the covers, his light brown curls flopping over his bedspread. Harry’s mouth curves into a smile, which promptly falls when the bed sheets next to Terry begin to move and a head of dark hair peeks out from the sheets. He looks vaguely familiar, like Harry should recognise him, and when the other man spots him his eyes widen. ‘Potter,’ he says, breathlessly. Harry just gapes at him, and when Terry finally wakes up and his eyes flick to Harry, and then back to his bedfellow, Harry begins to slowly count to ten in his head.

‘Harry!’ Terry says, pulling up his sheet to his neck. He looks at the man is his bed. ‘Theo, what the fuck are you still doing here?’

Theodore Nott, yes, that’s who he is. Slytherin. Bit of a ponce. A Death Eater’s son.

Theo rolls his eyes and swings out of bed. He’s completely naked, with a bobbing morning erection and scratches and love bites all over his lean body. He walks past Harry, bumping him hard with his shoulder and Harry shoves him hard into the hallway. Nott falls over, legs spread, but on his face is a ridiculous grin. He raises his palms in surrender and says, ‘Calm down Potter. I’m leaving,’ in a light, patronising sort of tone that makes Harry want to melt his brain with a scalding hex. Theo stands up slowly and then looks past Harry at Terry, who hasn’t moved at all. ‘See you tonight, yes?’ Harry glances at Terry, who’s watching Harry warily, cheeks red.

‘Just fuck off, Theo,’ Terry says.

Theo Disapparates and Harry stares briefly at the spot he just vacated. He looks around at his boyfriend, his supposed partner, thinking that maybe he should just probably...definitely leave. The level of anger his mind is reaching is just _not normal_. It’s too black, too unpredictable. Someone could get hurt if he doesn’t watch himself; he’s already learned that the hard way in the field.

Terry just looks at him, arms tense, and Harry decides he wants answers first. Yes. He wants to hear what Terry has to say for himself. He’s worth that, at least. An explanation of sorts? The glass of water on Terry’s nightstand shatters and Terry flinches. He pushes the blankets down his chest, and Harry’s heart breaks a little to find that he’s naked. Silly, really. Didn’t he just see Theo saunter his naked and obviously just shagged body out of here? What did he think they’d done? Played Exploding Snap? Such a fucking idiot.

‘Harry, I’m sorry.’

Harry raises his eyebrows. ‘Sorry?’ He doesn’t even recognise his own voice. It’s deep and gravelly. He sounds injured. He resents that. Absolutely resents that this fucker can bring him so low so fast.

‘It just happened.’

‘How long?’

Terry sighs and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He summons his dressing robe with the wand on his nightstand and slips it on, walking to stop in front of Harry, crossing his arms across his chest.

‘Harry, does it really matter?’

Harry clenches his fists. ‘How long, Terry?’

Terry looks down at the floor. ‘A few months. On and off.’

Harry just barely keeps his magic from lashing out at everything in the room. The ominous rattle of everything that isn’t bolted down is enough to tell him he’s starting to lose control.

‘Harry...’ Terry looks around nervously.

Harry closes his eyes and tries to bring his magic back under control, but when he looks at Terry again, he’s not sure he can do it. He can’t believe he’d been so stupid. He can’t believe he was seriously thinking of letting Terry move into his place. He can’t believe he spent the morning thinking about what spending the rest of his life with Terry might mean. Making plans. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. How could he have thought-? Why would he have thought that anyone could be _that_ person for him, the way his Mum was for his Dad, or the way Ron is for Hermione. It should be obvious to him by now that he just can’t have those things. That it’s just not _meant_ for him.

He looks up at Terry, and he’s absolutely infuriated by the thick knot forming in his throat. He will not cry. _Fuck that_. He won’t humiliate himself any further. He swallows it down, and when he can only think of one word, he says it very softly.

‘Why?’

Terry winces and picks at a loose thread in his dressing gown. ‘To be honest, Harry, You’re just a little too... intense for me.’

Harry feels his insides go cold. ‘Intense?’

Terry shrugs. ‘I don’t think we wanted the same things.’ Terry looks at him with something like pity in his eyes. ‘I never wanted anything more than something casual...and the way you look at me sometimes, I know you want more.’

‘Terry, we’ve been dating for more than a year.’

‘Oh, Harry...are you really counting all that time when we were just friends and we hadn’t even kissed and you couldn’t even work up the courage to come on to me, and I had to throw myself at you in a bathroom at the Leaky?’ Terry lets out an exasperated sigh. ‘Six months, Harry. We’ve been fucking each other for six months, and only when _you_ have the time.’

Harry licks his lips slowly. ‘Fucking, is that what we were doing?’

‘Yes!’ Terry throws his hands up in the air. ‘We were just fucking, Harry! And you’re amazing. Brilliant, even. I’m not going to pretend I’m not terribly attracted to you, or that we haven’t had some of the best shags of my life. But, Harry, I know you’ve been thinking of asking me to move in. I know. I could see it in your eyes. I’m just not _there_ yet. Not with you.’

Harry just stares at Terry, not really comprehending exactly what’s happening.

Teddy reaches out his hand and squeezes Harry’s arm briefly. ‘Harry. I’m sorry you had to find out like this,’ he says. ‘That was really shitty. But I was going to end it anyway. I was just waiting for the right time.’

‘You fucking shit,’ Harry says in a low voice.

Terry steps back. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, Harry,’ he says. ‘You’re always so moody. I was afraid to even argue with you.’

Harry snarls and a small gash appears on Terry’s right cheek. Terry cries out and grabs his face, and Harry’s stomach quickly turns to lead.

‘Fuck, Harry!’

Harry steps forward, reaching out his hand. Terry steps back a few paces.

‘Jesus, Terry, I’m sorry!’

‘Don’t you see,’ Terry says, holding his cheek. ‘This is why I didn’t even want to tell you. You’re like a fucking powder keg sometimes.’

Harry steps back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbles.

‘Just go, Harry.’

Harry doesn’t even wait a minute longer before he Disapparates.

 

 

 

:::

 

When he turns over and opens his eyes and sees the room, and the Healer standing at the edge of his bed, peering at his chart, Draco feels his stomach plummet.

Pansy is going to kill him.

The Healer, a short woman with grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, looks up at him and smiles.

‘Awake, I see,’ she says, smiling. ‘I’m Healer McGreer, but please, call me Morag.’

Draco groans, and tries to push himself into a sitting position.

‘Oh no, lad,’ she says, walking over to him and resting her hand gently on his shoulder. ‘Don’t move around like that just yet.’

‘I’m fine,’ he grunts, even though he feels anything but. The right side of his body feels like liquid fire is flowing through his veins.

Morag raises her eyebrow. ‘I’m sure you’re not, Mr. Malfoy.’ She waves her wand over his body. ‘Are you going to stay still, or am I going to have to restrain you?’

Draco grunts and lies flat, closing his eyes when a wave of pain hits him deep in his belly.

Morag tuts softly. ‘Yes, that’ll be the internal damage we took hours to set to rights. There’ll be some pain because of the bruising, but you’ll live.’

‘Don’t you people give any sort of bloody pain relief in this godforsaken place?’

Morag presses her lips together and leans over him, opening up his eyes with her fingers and shining a light from her wand into his face.

‘You’re maxed out, Mr. Malfoy. We can’t give you anything more without stressing your liver, which has enough damage already.’ She steps away from him. ‘Everything looks in order so far, but I’m worried about how you’re taking to the healing charms we placed on your ribs. The pain shouldn’t be this bad after the charms we set.’ She frowns and glances at his chart. ‘Unless you already have some sort of resistance to healing charms? This can happen with overuse.’

He gives her a look and lifts his arm, showing her the faded Dark Mark. ‘You can assume I have some resistance.’

She glances at his arm briefly and then holds her chart close to her chest. ‘In that case, Draco -can I call you Draco?’ She doesn’t wait for his answer. ‘We’re going to have to use Skele-Gro if we don’t see any improvement in the pain over the next few hours. If we leave it too long, you’re risking infection.’

Draco huffs. ‘I know for a fact that Skele-Gro isn’t going to improve my pain at all.’

Morag give him a look, though her mouth twitches in amusement. ‘Forgive me, Draco, I misspoke. If you want to diminish any lasting pain, oh say, the pain of a serious bone infection, you’re going to want to use the Skele-Gro.’

Draco closes his eyes briefly. ‘You must know I can’t afford this. You might as well send me on my way.’

Morag scribbles on her chart. ‘Don’t be ridiculous Draco, we don’t live in a society barbaric enough to turn away people in need. The Ministry does fund some of our operations, you know.’ She looks up at him. ‘I’ll put you down for Skele-Gro treatment then, shall I?’

Draco watches her for a moment and then nods stiffly. ‘But as soon as that’s over, I’m leaving,’ he mutters.

She rolls her eyes. ‘Will you be needing anything else, then?’

Draco glances about the mostly empty ward and fiddles with his sheet. ‘Might I—’ he clears his throat, ‘might I have something to eat?’

He can’t bring himself to look up at her, but he doesn’t think he can last much longer without food; the hunger is enough pain in itself.

Morag rests her hand on his, and he’s appalled when tears spring to his eyes. He forces himself to lift his chin.

Morag smiles at him softly. ‘I’ll get you something myself.’

 

 

:::

His first treatment with Skele-Gro is about as painful as he expected, so it doesn’t help that only a few hours later, Morag tell him an Auror’s waiting to speak to him. It’s even worse when he realises said Auror is Potter.

At first, Potter seems distracted and put off when he walks into Draco’s ward. Draco pushes himself up on the bed, wincing at the lingering pain in his side. Then Potter moves closer and stands at the edge of his bed, gazing at Draco intently, as if memorising every scratch on his body. Potter curls his fingers around the smooth, white iron bed frame. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his hair is in even more of a mess than usual.

‘Coming off a bender, Potter?’ Draco drawls, cringing at the gravelly sound of his own voice. ‘Who’d have thought a Ministry official would do such a thing on the job.’

Potter scowls, deepening the lines on his forehead and gripping the bed frame tighter. ‘Not today, Malfoy,’ he says, curtly. 

Draco opens his mouth to respond, but something about the look on Potter’s face makes him close his mouth again. Potter gives him a dark look, and then his eyes drop to Draco’s chest.

 ‘The healers tell me you Apparated here almost half-dead.’ 

‘An exaggeration, I’m sure.’ 

Potter lifts his eyebrow. ‘Care to tell me what happened?’ 

Draco tries his best not to squirm under Potter’s gaze. Even with reddened eyes and hair that resembles a rat’s nest, Potter still manages to look the part in his Auror robes: fierce and unapologetic. Potter doesn’t even have to try. 

‘I’m not filing a complaint,’ Draco says, ‘if that’s what you came here for.’ 

‘Why not?’ 

Draco laughs bitterly. ‘Why the fuck would I? So some Auror can use it to wipe his arse? Your lot doesn’t care what happens to people like me. Why should I bother?’ 

Potter shifts his stance, lifting his hand from the bed frame and running it through his hair quickly. ‘Malfoy, if you were attacked by wizards, you should report it. I-- I‘ll see to it personally.’ 

Draco tries his best to ignore the sudden, inexplicable flutters his in stomach. ‘Forget it, Potter. I have nothing to report.’ 

Potter looks at him for a moment and sighs. ‘Look, Malfoy, I’m sorry the Ministry’s done so much to disappoint you, and that you feel you can’t trust us with your case, but--’ He steps forward and Draco instinctively flinches away, and Potter makes a small sound of dismay.

 ‘Malfoy, I’m not— What do you think I’m going—?’ he cuts himself off and rubs his eyes beneath his glasses. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of parchment. ‘It’s my card,’ he says. ‘It has my Floo address, and my house address. If you need anything, Malfoy, I want you to contact me.’

 Draco carefully takes the card from Potter’s hand, making sure not to let their hands touch. He doesn’t know why he does this, only that he shouldn’t know what Potter’s skin feels like. 

Draco stares at the card blankly for a moment. ‘Why the fuck do you care?’ he asks, dropping his palm into his lap. ‘Do you have to save everyone, no matter how worthless, is that it?’ 

Potter watches him with an inscrutable expression. ‘Just let me know if you change your mind, Malfoy.’

‘I won’t.’

Potter just shakes his head leaves.

:::

 

When Draco returns to the flat, the following day, it’s in utter chaos. Pansy is sitting in the bed wearing in a thin dressing robe that leaves nothing to the imagination, and hugging her knees to her chest. When Draco walks in, she rounds on him, her face twisted with deep lines of fury.

‘Where the fuck have you been, Draco?’

Draco sighs and drops his cloak on the floor. The room looks as though it’s been ransacked by someone looking for hidden money. Draco scowls. The idiots. If he had money, would he be working for a prick like Burke?

‘I was at St. Mungo’s,’ he says.

Her expression falters and then her hand flies to her mouth. She takes a step closer and looks him over him anxiously, as if trying to see evidence of a missing limb. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘It was nothing I couldn’t handle.’

‘Burke’s men?’

He shakes his head. ‘Just a drop off gone wrong. What happened here?’

‘They came looking for you last night,’ Pansy says, folding her arms beneath her breasts. ‘Is it true you owe Burke _50 Galleons?’_

He nods absently, crossing the room, lifting an overturned chair and setting it to rights. His small desk draw is completely rifled through. Parchment and quills are strewn everywhere. A few potions recipes he’d been fiddling with, crumpled and sullied by a few muddy footprints.

‘Draco, I can’t —how are we going to pay that?’

He looks sharply at her. ‘Did they hurt you?’

She shakes her head.

‘It’s not your debt,’ he says, walking over to their little kitchenette and looking out the grime covered window. ‘It’s mine.’

Pansy rolls her eyes and moves closer to him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She turns on the tap and splashes some water on her face.

Draco pulls out a fag from his stash behind the empty sugar tin and lights it with his wand, leaning back against the rickety old cabinet beneath the kitchen sink.

He can almost feel Pansy watching him from the corner of her eye and he sucks lightly on the end of his fag, then turns to face her.

‘Draco. I know we’ve been through this again and again, but even if I take two tricks tonight, I’ll never make as much as you. You could make 30 Galleons in one night if you just let someone blow you.’

He clenches his jaw and doesn’t say anything. She gestures to the empty pantry shelves. ‘We’re going to starve! And Burke will send someone to kill you if we don’t pay him soon.’

He takes another drag of his cigarette and lets his eyes flutter closed, trying his best to drown out the noise she’s making in his head.

When he opens his eyes again, she’s sitting at the edge of the bed, anxiously twirling the ends of her dressing gown.

‘Theo stopped by today,’ she says without looking up.

Draco takes another drag of his fag and then stubs it out on the counter. ‘Did he?’

A look of mischief flashes across her face and Draco suppresses the urge to smile.

‘You won’t believe what he told me.’

Draco sighs and crosses the room, sitting beside her and draping his arm across her shoulders. She leans into him and folds one leg over his.

‘What did he tell you?’ he says into her hair. It smells of cigarettes and dirt.

‘Apparently he’s been fucking Terry Boot.’

Draco raises his brows, vaguely wondering why this should be of any interest to him. Pansy pulls away from him and watches him incredulously.

‘Oh, Draco. You never know anything anymore; you’ve become the worst person to gossip with.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Why don’t you just tell me, then?’

‘Terry Boot,’ she says grinning. ‘As in, Harry Potter’s boyfriend.’

Draco’s mouth drops slightly, and then he smiles incredulously. ‘Potter’s a pouf?’.

‘Oh, darling. He’s always played for your team.’

Draco shakes his head wondrously.

It wasn’t that it never occurred to him that Potter might be gay, what with the Weaselette’s sudden disappearance, and the way he keeps his private life completely hidden from the media, as if he has some terrible secret under his sleeve. But the thought that Harry Potter is just your everyday, cock-sucking, arse-worshiping pouf fills him with a vague sense of hilarity.

Pansy laughs at his gobsmacked expression. ‘Anyway, apparently, Potter walked in on their morning after.’

‘ _No.’_

Pansy snickers, her eyes dancing with amusement. ‘Yes! Theo Apparated out the place completely starkers. He reckons Potter would have done him in right there if he stayed.’

Draco shakes his head slowly, trying to ignore the brief flash of Potter’s face in his mind’s eye, and the way he looked when he came to see him at St. Mungo’s. Draco had teased him for coming off a bender, and now he knows it was probably not far from the truth. Draco looked the same way when he’d broken up with Blaise a few years ago, when he couldn’t stop crying and his diet consisted mainly of Ogden’s finest.

Pansy puts a hand on his knee and he looks up at her, pulling himself out of his reverie. She looks at him with a serious expression, and Draco’s certain he’s not going to like what she has to say.

‘Draco, I had an idea today,’ she begins hesitantly.

Draco opens his mouth to protest, and she raises her hand in a gesture to stop him. ‘No. No. Just listen to what I’m going to say first before you get cheesed off. I know you don’t want to turn any tricks. Even though you could make enough for rent, and for Burke, _and_ for food with just two blowjobs...’ she trails off suggestively and Draco waves her on to continue. ‘Ok, well. Here’s the thing. There’s a potion I can get my hands on from one of the girls downstairs. She says she’ll trade with me if I give up a few Johns.’

‘Okay,’ Draco murmurs, dragging out the word and giving her a blank look.

‘It’s the kind of potion that will make anyone, man or woman, pregnant.’

Draco frowns. ‘ _Fertilitaire_ , of course I know of it. It’s been used by Pureblood families for ages. The culprit of almost every male pregnancy in the Wizarding World. Why would you want that, and why would you trade for it? I could make it in a heartbeat.’

‘Yes, but we can’t afford the ingredients right now, so a trade it’ll have to be.’

‘And, why exactly would we need this potion, Pans?’

She eyes him skittishly for a moment and then leans over and rests her palm on his stomach. ‘For you to have Potter’s baby.’

He stares at her unblinkingly for a moment, and then stands up, moving away from her. ‘You’ve...you’ve lost the plot.’

She stands up as well. ‘Draco, just think of it. Potter’s just been humiliated. He’s lonely; he’s vulnerable. You’re gorgeous. He’s had a crush on you since sixth year.’

Draco splutters. ‘That’s complete rubbish.’

‘Oh shut up, Draco, you blind pillock. You never could tell when someone wants you, I should know. And Potter does. He’ll fuck you, I know it.’

‘And then what? So I become pregnant with his child, how does that help me? Except for the fact that I’ll be hosting a bloody parasite, in this filthy sodding shit of a flat.’

‘Draco, do you really think the saviour of the wizarding world would abandon the father of his child?’

Draco narrows his eyes. ‘You’re completely mental if you think I’m going to do something that stupid.’

‘Draco, it’s the best plan we have to _get out_ of here. Think of all the power Potter has. What he could give you. You think I want to be stuck like this, turning tricks for the rest of my life?’

‘Then you do, it! You get yourself pregnant.’

‘Potter’s a pouf, Draco,’ she says exasperatedly. ‘And besides. It’s you he wants. He always has.’

His traitorous mind lends him a picture of the way Potter looked at him yesterday, and the card with his number and address seems to burn in his pocket. He should have chucked the stupid thing.

‘Pansy, I’m not going to do this.’

Her face twists, and for minute Draco thinks she‘s going to cry, but she only lets out a frustrated growl, tugging at her hair and kicking the already rickety wooden chair across the room.

‘I can’t live like this anymore, Draco! I can’t sell myself anymore to those men...and their hands...all over me. And you..!’ Tears start rolling down her face and she points at him with a quivering finger. ‘You can’t even look at me without being disgusted. But what can I do? What can I do, Draco?’ He reaches out for her and she slaps his hand away.

‘We have nothing, and those men will be back, and they’ll probably kill us both. How are we going to get out of this one?’ She wipes the tears away from her face with harsh swipes of her palm.

His mind again settles on the card in his pocket. Maybe Pansy’s right. Maybe he _should_ seduce Potter. Trap him with a child. It would be easy. Especially if, as according to Pansy, Potter’s been wanting him for years. Why shouldn’t he take advantage of that? The way Potter looked at him yesterday...

He closes his eyes briefly. No. He can’t do it. His heart isn’t that twisted just yet. No matter what the papers say about him. Even after all he’s done.

He reaches for Pansy again and this time she comes to him, and he holds her close. She’s right though. They need money, and they need it now. The landlord comes in the morning, and Burke won’t wait too long to send his men after Draco again.

He steps back and holds her at arm’s length. ‘How much would I really get?’ he asks softly.

She understands his words almost immediately and her eyes widen. She smiles, and cups his cheek. ‘With this face, darling,’ she says. ‘Thirty Galleons at least.’

‘Just a blow job. Nothing else?’

She shakes her head solemnly. ‘I’ll send them up to you here. You won’t have to come down to the club if you don’t want to.’

He nods and returns to the sink, pushing things aside, searching for his pack of fags. He lights one with shaking fingers and takes a few deep drags before he feels Pansy rest her forehead against his spine.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘I’ll show you how to do everything.

 

 

:::

Pansy sucked him off in the shower before she headed down to the club. _‘So you’ll last longer. They’ll want their Galleons worth.’_

He cleaned his teeth and dried his hair with his towel. _‘They like that fresh, out-of-the-shower, tousled look. Don’t use any charms.’_

She picked an outfit for him to wear -clean, threadbare linen trousers. No pants. _‘And make sure you’re hard before they come up to you. Let them see what they’re going to pay for as soon as they come in.’_

He wanted to wear a shirt, but Pansy was against it. _‘You’ve got a gorgeous chest, even with the scars. We need to show it off. Think of yourself like a pasty on display on the lunch cart on the Hogwarts express._

He’s aching for a cigarette, but Pansy warned him not to smoke. _‘They don’t like the taste, or the smell. They only want to taste and smell you.’_

The first trick didn’t want to kiss him though.

He knocked on the door just after nine, and Draco opened the door halfway. He was a tall, middle-aged wizard with greying temples and shifty, overlarge eyes. When he saw Draco, a slow smile spread across his face.

‘Well, she didn’t lie about that face did she?’

Draco said nothing.

‘I’ll pay you 20 Galleons for it.’

‘Twenty-five.’

‘Twenty-five usually gets me a bit more than a chance to suck your cock.’

Draco moved to close the door, but the wizard stopped it with his boot. ‘Twenty five it is.’

Draco put his hand out and the wizard dropped a velvet purse in his hand. Draco murmured the charm Pansy taught him to check the gold, and finding it to be the amount he required, he let the wizard in.

The time didn’t pass as quickly as Draco had hoped.

Now, he sits on the bed, playing with the bag of Galleons in his hand. Pansy said she’d send someone else up at ten. It’s almost half past, and he isn’t hard at all. He doesn’t care. The next trick could take it or leave it.

He stares at the opposite wall, trying not to think about those shifty eyes looking up at him from the ground. Or the way Draco grabbed his hair, or fucked his mouth... or the things he said. For twenty five galleons.

The knock at the door startles him, and he tightly grips the bag of gold in his palm. He stands quickly, dusting off his trousers and stuffing the bag of gold into the cupboard under the sink. He tries his best to ignore the pounding of his heart, or the slight tremor in his fingers.

When he opens the door, the trick has his back turned. He’s tall --taller than Draco and broad shouldered. Draco clears his throat awkwardly. The trick turns around and Draco’s heart thuds harder in his chest. This trick is younger, with a space in his teeth and light brown curls on his head. His eyes are a pale blue and there’s a smattering of light brown stubble on his face. He smiles, revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

‘Look at you,’ he says, looking over Draco’s body with covetous gaze. ‘You’re absolutely stunning.’

‘Thirty-five.’

The trick gives him an appraising look. ‘All right,’ he says, reaching into his pocket. ‘You certainly look worth the gold.’

Draco watches as he counts the coins and drops into a velvet pouch before tying it off and handing it to Draco. When the spell reveals a few extra Galleons, Draco looks up and the trick smiles slowly.

‘A little tip, shall we say.’

Draco eyes him warily and steps aside to let him in. He banishes the pouch under the sink with the other similar pouch. His trick slowly walks around the room, his arms folded behind his back.

‘So this is where you live?’

‘It is.’

‘It’s appalling.’

Draco scowls. ‘You have an hour.’

The trick smiles and gestures to the bed. ‘Will you lay down for me, then?’

Draco’s heart thuds again in his chest. The last guy just sucked him off against the wall; he hadn’t even jerked himself off or anything before he left in a hurry, and Draco staggered to the bed.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ the trick says, walking closer to him. Draco instinctively reaches for his wand, but, of course, it isn’t there. Pansy made him stash it somewhere safe before she left. _‘They’re more likely to try to steal your wand before they kill you, Draco. You know how scarce quality wands are these days.’_

The trick smiles again. ‘My name is Evan,’ he says, unbuckling his jeans. ‘At least, sit down for me, please. I only want to make this good for us both.’

Draco does as he asks and sits stiffly at the edge of the bed.

Evan pulls off his shirt in one quick movement. He kneels between Draco’s legs and gently spreads them further apart, pulling Draco’s trousers down with a few graceless tugs. Draco lifts his arse a bit, and Evan pulls them off completely tossing them aside. He stares at Draco’s cock with an expression of intense lust that makes Draco’s cock stir with interest. Draco tries to ignore the voice in his head that tells him if he could get hard this easily for a stranger, he probably really is a whore who deserves nothing better. He tries to remind himself it’s only a natural reaction to being admired. Evan licks his lips and reaches out to grasp Draco’s cock. Draco gasps softly, and Evan looks up at him with a dark gleam in his eye.

‘You want it, don’t you?’ he says, stroking Draco’s cock slowly, and rubbing his thumb teasingly over the head. ‘You want me to put your cock in my mouth.’

Draco pushes his pride to the outermost corners of his mind. ‘Yes,’ he says.

‘Lay back then.’

Draco leans back slightly, resting on his elbows, as Evan pushes his body closer to Draco’s, and nuzzles his pubic hair with his nose.

‘Fuck, you smell amazing.’

Evan grips Draco’s thighs hard and sucks Draco’s balls into his mouth. Draco gasps and arches his back, letting he head loll backwards. He cock is fully hard now, twitching slightly against his stomach. Evan lifts his head and wraps his lips around the head of Draco’s cock, sucking slightly as he strokes the length of Draco’s shaft with his hand. Draco opens his mouth and startles himself with the deep groan that escapes his lips.

Evan pulls away and pushes Draco’s body roughly up on the bed, and Draco barely has a moment to think before Evan is on top of him, their chests pressed together.

He’s heavy; Draco couldn’t push him off if he tried.

‘What are you doing?’ he breathes, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest.

‘Relax,’ Evan says, rocking his hips into Draco’s cock. ‘I just want to taste you.’

He wraps his arm around Draco’s head, gripping his hair tightly, and lowers his mouth to Draco’s. All Draco can do is drop his jaw and allow Evan’s eager, probing tongue access to his mouth. It’s the most disgusting sort of kiss he’s ever experienced. Evan ruts against him and eagerly fucks Draco’s mouth with his tongue, eventually pulling back to take a deep breath and slither down Draco’s torso.

He grabs Draco’s cock and taps it against his mouth a few times before sucking eagerly at the head. He’s all brash and no finesse, and Draco has to grips the sheets when Evan lets his teeth scrape along his shaft one time too many.

Eventually, Draco drops his head back and loses himself in the sensation of Evan’s hot mouth engulfing him, and the touch of his tongue firmly pressing against the underside of his cock. When Evan gags on his cock, Draco groans and grabs his hair in his fist. Evan keeps taking him deep down his throat as far as he can go, again and again and Draco comes hard, barely giving any warning. Evan staggers backwards, coughing and wiping his mouth with the back of his palm.

Draco sits up and eyes him warily, but Evan only leers at him from his spot on the ground. Draco finds his t-shirt on the bed and tosses it to him, and makes short work of pulling on his trousers.

Evan frowns. ‘It’s not been an hour,’ he says.

‘Your time’s up.’

Evan opens his mouth and closes it again. He pulls on his t shirt and his jeans with slow, jerky movements. When Draco opens the door, expectantly, Evan walks past him slowly, as if trying to work something out in his head. He turns to Draco in the hallway.

‘You’ve got an amazing body,’ he says. He digs through his jeans pocket and hands Draco a card. ‘If you ever need the money, I’ll take you for the whole week if I could.’

Draco takes the card and closes the door in Evan’s face.

The first thing he wants is his wand. The wand his father bought him as soon as he turned eleven. The wand Potter returned to him after the trials. He digs in the shoe box under the bed, and when his hand closes around it, a surge of pure relief flows though his veins. He walks quickly to the kitchenette and shoves the empty sugar jar aside. He grabs the almost empty pack of fags and lights it with his wand and shaking fingers. He takes a few deep drags to calm himself down, but it isn’t working the way it usually does. He sinks down to the floor and his wand clatters against the wood when he presses his palm against the floor. He sucks a few more drags and then he drops the fag on the floor and covers his face with his palms. His skin is wet.

He wipes harshly at his face, disgusted when more tears come in its place.

What is this? He hasn’t cried since he was a boy. Was he going to cry now because he let two complete strangers suck him off for money?

‘Fuck that.’

He wipes angrily at his face again and reaches for the money purses in the cupboard under the sink. He just made seventy Galleons in a few hours, practically doing nothing. What was to keep him from doing so again, and again, and again, like Pansy? Was that what he wanted? What would that make him? A whore like her? That’s what they call her behind her back. Was he any better? Was _pureblood_ any better? Was all this worth it in the end, to be better? Look what being _better_ brought to his father, or his mother. He has no idea where she is, and he can’t even travel to find her. His travel is restricted by the Ministry and no matter how many appeals he’s sent in, he won’t be allowed to try to find her. He can’t even look for his own mother. Was it worth all of that, to be Pureblood? To be better?

There is nothing beneath him now. He’s been pushed down to the bottom rung of everything. Why pretend to be any better? He was the worst of the lot, all of them, all the dark wizards and the purebloods pushed in the tenements of Knockturn Alley to rot and be forgotten. Why should he try to be _better_? Why shouldn’t he trick Potter and have his child? It’s the kind of thing someone like him would do, isn’t it? He wipes his face again, relieved to find that the tears, for the most part, have stopped.

The door opens and Pansy walks in, and when she spots him on the floor, she rushes over and kneels before him.

‘What happened?’

He shakes his head and reaches for her hand. He places the gold in her hands and closes her fingers around it.

‘That should be enough for Burke and for the rent,’ he says, slightly alarmed at the hoarse quality of his voice.

‘Draco, what happened?’ Pansy’s eyes flicker between the gold in her hand and the look on Draco’s face.

‘I’m fine. Nothing happened, Pansy,’ he says. ‘I just won’t be doing _that_ again.’

She leans back, resting on her haunches. ‘Draco you made more in one night than I do in a week,’ she says, lifting the bag of gold weakly. ‘Surely, you could try...’

‘No, Pansy,’ he says sharply.

She watches him for a moment, and then her shoulders slump. ‘I thought, for a moment, we could be okay,’ she says. ‘When this gold is finished, we’ll be back to where we started.’

Draco nods, and then he takes a deep, burning breath. ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I know. That’s why we need to get that potion.’

 

 

 

It’s the third night in a row he’s swallowed too much Firewhiskey. Harry stares at the fire in his hearth, trying not to think about his latest talk with Hermione and Ron.

Apparently he’s become ‘noticeably upset’ since his break up, and they wished he would talk to them more, and drink less and generally be less of ‘depressive energy’ in their lives. Apparently Rose worries about him, and Teddy told his grandmother, who told Molly, who told Ron, that he’s worried about his godfather, because he doesn’t do much else ‘but drink and mope about.’

Of course, he didn’t tell his friends exactly what happened with Terry. That would have been utterly humiliating. He just told them they broke up because they drifted apart. Hermione wouldn’t let it go, asking if he was sure, because, ‘Wasn’t it just last week you were thinking of moving in with him, Harry?’ At that point, he had to get out of their house before he broke something, or worse, hurt one of his friends. He’s been seeing someone at St. Mungo’s about his tendency to lose control of his magic when he’s upset, but all they seem to want to do is talk about his life and his stupid childhood, and he leaves the Healer’s office with half his possessions broken, but the Healer, Marley, doesn’t seem to mind. Each day he tells Harry he’s making progress, whatever the fuck that means.

He takes another swig from the bottle and sets it down on the coffee table in front of him. The telly is on, although he isn’t really watching it. Maybe he should go to one of those gay clubs Terry was always raving about and try to pull. He usually avoids the whole club scene, but he’s hard, and lonely, and a good quick shag right now might be just the thing.

He stands and staggers slightly, and pulls off the t-shirt he’d been wearing and drops it to the floor. He should probably shower first. That’s generally a good idea when you’ve been working all day in God forsaken woollen robes in the summer heat. He unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down, stumbling as he walks down the hallway, dragging his fingertips on the opposite wall as he stops to toe off his jeans. Harry pulls off his underwear, leaving it in the hallway and stumbles the rest of the way to his bedroom to grab his wand from the dresser.

He runs his hands through his hair a few times and opens the door to his bathroom, fumbling slightly with the handle. When he finally gets it open, he flicks his wand at the shower, and the spray of water splashes everywhere until he has the good sense to close the curtain. He drops his wand and glasses in the sink and decides to spend a few minutes staring at his reflection in the mirror as the water heats up. He pulls at the skin under his eyes, despairing at the few lines and wrinkles cracking his skin. He’s only thirty-three for God’s sake. He doesn’t quite require crow’s feet just yet. His mouth turns down at the corners, his eyes are too bright, his lashes too long...these are all the reasons he can’t snag a partner, of course. All the fault lies in his face. And then there’s the scar. The stupid jagged scar marring almost half his facial features. Abruptly he gives himself a hard slap in the face, watching as redness blooms across his cheek. ‘Stop being ridiculous,’ he tells his reflection.

He staggers into the shower and takes time to lather his skin before paying attention to his cock, but then he decides against a wank anyway. Wasn’t he going to go down to the club? He’ll get someone else to wank him.

He thoroughly dries off his skin with his towel and rubs his hair harshly, until he gets that just fucked look Ginny always helped him achieve back when they we trying that ridiculous dating thing they did.

He pulls on his tightest, most threadbare jeans, no pants this time, so he’s extra careful with his cock when he zips up. He pulls on a simple black t-shirt with a low v-neck and gives his hair on last shake before shoving his feet into his Dragonhide boots and sticking his wand in there as well. Moody would be appalled, but it’ll have to do.

Just when he’s about to turn to Apparate, he realises he has no fucking idea where he’s going. He sobered up a little, enough not to stumble as he races to the Floo to try to think of who might know of a gay club he could go to have sex with a random stranger. He could always use the Wizarding directory, he supposes. But when he starts searching for the Floo powder, the Floo suddenly roars to life, and he stumbles backward and falls flat on his arse. Even more alarming is the familiar white blond hair and that face that’s featured in 90% of his sex dreams since he was sixteen.

‘Malfoy?’

A faint look of surprise blooms across Malfoy’s face and he raises his eyebrow. ‘Potter? What are you doing on the floor?’

Harry looks down at himself and sits up straighter. ‘Nothing,’ he says. ‘I’ve just, fallen over, I suppose.’

Malfoy watches him for a moment. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Will you let me through? I need your help.’

Harry stands quickly, looking around at the mess. ‘Oh, sure.’

Draco’s head disappears from the flames and Harry dusts his shirts unnecessarily. He bends over and wrestles with his boot for his wand, hopping on one foot while he tries to yank it out. Typically, this is how Malfoy finds him, just at the moment when the final yank tugs the wand out into the open. He straightens up, and Malfoy watches him with an amused expression.

‘I was trying to get my wand,’ he says.

‘Which was, naturally, sequestered inside your boot.’

‘Er, yes.’

Malfoy looks around his flat curiously, his eyes falling on the various bits of Harry’s clothes from his earlier desire to walk about naked.

Harry gives Draco a subtle once over as he does this, noting that Malfoy looks slightly better than the last time he saw him. More solid, perhaps. Just as distractingly gorgeous. Harry inwardly rolls his eyes and steps backward, kicking the back of his calf against the coffee table. Malfoy turns to him and his mouth twitches.

‘Potter, are you drunk?’

Harry gestures vaguely. ‘Perhaps,’ he says, in what he hopes is a self-assured, confident kind of tone.

Malfoy actually does smile this time, and Harry loves the way it makes his eyes brighter, and his cheekbones seem less severe.

‘Who knew you had it in you?’ Malfoy says.

‘Oh, shut up. I’m an adult. I’m allowed to get pissed if I want.’

‘I never said any different.’

‘What do you want anyway? It must be after midnight or something.’

Malfoy laughs, a small sound that surprises Harry more than anything. ‘It’s half past nine, Potter,’ he says. ‘And any reasonable wizard would have invited me to sit by now.’

‘Shit. I’m sorry.’

He steps aside and gestures to the couch. When Malfoy walks past him and sits, Harry gets a whiff of a heady scent that makes his mouth go dry with want.

He summons two tumblers from the kitchen and pours them each a shot of whiskey, then sits next to Malfoy and props his boots up on the coffee table.

He knocks back a shot quickly and looks over to Malfoy, who, after a moment’s hesitation, does the same.

‘So. What can I help you with, Malfoy?’

Malfoy licks his lips slowly and Harry looks away, choosing instead to focus on the burn of the whiskey going down his throat, or the way the dim wandlight make shadows flicker on his boot.

‘I need a place to stay,’ Malfoy says, softly.

Harry looks at him sharply. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s nothing, really. My roommate and I--- Pansy and I aren’t on speaking terms any longer, and I have nowhere else to go.’

Harry stares at Malfoy, open-mouthed.

Malfoy narrows his eyes. ‘Look, you know I’d never ask unless I had no choice. You said to come to you if I need anything.’

‘I know what I said.’

Malfoy gives him a long look and then he carefully sets his glass on the coffee table. ‘I knew you wouldn’t help me,’ he says, starting to stand.

Harry reaches out his hand and stops him. ‘Oh, calm down. I’m just surprised, for fuck’s sake. That you would actually come to me.’

Malfoy relaxes and twists his fingers together in his lap. ‘Yes, well, if I had anyone else to go to, I would.’ He looks up at Harry, and Harry’s mouth is suddenly very dry.

‘A few days?’

Malfoy licks his lips, and runs his finger through his hair. ‘Sure, I can be out by then,’ he says softly.

Harry watches him for a moment. ‘I’m too drunk for this right now,’ he says. ‘We’ll work this out in the morning.’

Malfoy nods his head slowly. ‘So, I can stay the night?’

‘You can stay,’ Harry says. ‘Let's just leave it at that.’

He drops his head back against the back of the couch. ‘I was on my way out, you know,’ he says almost petulantly.

Malfoy lifts his eyebrows. ‘Where were you going?’

‘I’m not exactly sure,’ he turns to look at Malfoy. His body feels loose and languid, and Malfoy keeps doing this _thing_ where he worries his lower lip with his teeth. It’s distracting as fuck, and Harry thinks he might have a halfie from just the sight of it.

Malfoy looks him over. ‘Club?’

‘Mhmm. Except I don’t know any.’

‘If I had the Galleons, I would take you somewhere I know,’ Draco says softly.

‘Would you?’ Harry moves closer to the heat of Malfoy’s body and stretches his long legs out in front of him.

Malfoy gives him a long look. Harry can’t be sure, but he thinks Malfoy, maybe, might be sizing him up. Harry watches from the corner of his eye and Malfoy’s eyes trail the length of his legs, and up to his chest. When Malfoy realises Harry is watching, he doesn’t look away as if caught. He holds Harry’s gaze and smiles slowly.

‘I’m sure I could show you a good time, if you let me.’

Harry isn’t quite sure he understands what exactly is going on. Draco Malfoy is sitting in his flat, right now, watching him in a way Harry loves -but never thought would _ever_ happen- and offering to show Harry a good time?

‘What are you doing, Malfoy?’

Malfoy gives him an innocent look. ‘Nothing. You said you wanted to go out. I can show you where to go.’

Harry laughs softly, incredulously. ‘You’d go with me?’

‘Why not?’

Harry rubs his face harshly and then runs his hands through his hair, groaning at the pent up sexual frustration. ‘Oh, my god Malfoy. What is happening right now?’

Malfoy looks at him and then scratches his jaw self consciously. ‘You’re probably right,’ he says. ‘I should go.’

Harry drops his legs from the coffee table and sits up. ‘No! No, don’t do that.’

He pushes himself up off the couch and then reaches his hand out to Malfoy, who watches it for a moment before sighing deeply and then taking it.

Harry pulls him up hard, and Malfoy stumbles into him, his breath puffing across Harry’s face.

Harry tightens his grip so that Malfoy can’t pull away. ‘Take me somewhere, Malfoy,’ he says in a low, breathy voice.

Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bobs slightly, and Harry tilts his head. ‘Scared, are you?’

The skin around Malfoy’s eyes tightens, and he smirks at Harry before grabbing Harry’s hip. His pushes his fingers beneath the fabric of Harry’s shirt, brushing the skin and the base of his spine.

‘Hold on, Potter.’

Malfoy takes him into Soho instead of a Wizard’s club. That’s the first surprise. The second surprise is that he knows his way around.

‘You’ve been here before?’ Harry asks.

Malfoy smiles slowly, occasionally glancing him as they walk down the street to the gay club not far in the distance.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ he says softly.

Harry’s face heats and he looks down at the pavement in front of him. It isn’t that he didn’t know Malfoy was gay. He heard rumours about Malfoy and Zabini after school, after all. It’s just that he’d never expected his life to take such a strange turn.

He glances at Malfoy’s side profile again. Malfoy is taller than him, and he loves that.

When he reaches the entrance to the club, Malfoy turns to him and pulls Harry close, kissing him lightly on the lips. Harry’s mouth drops open in shock, and Malfoy uses the moment to gently tug Harry’s wand from his sleeve. Harry, still reeling from the unexpected kiss, feels the faint flutter of a spell pass by his shoulder, then the bouncer nods at Malfoy and steps aside to let them both pass.

‘Did you just curse the bouncer?’ Harry yells, following Malfoy into the club where the music is on full blast. ‘More importantly, did you just steal my wand?’

Malfoy tosses him a look over his shoulder. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he shouts back. He turns abruptly and Harry almost walks straight into him. He steadies Harry by gripping his arms, pulling him close and slipping Harry’s wand back into his sleeve.

‘It was a simple Confundus charm.’

‘Performed on a Muggle. In Public.’

Malfoy raises his brows. ‘Are you going to arrest me, Auror Potter?’ he asks, smirking.

Harry steps back, folding his arms across his chest. ‘I should. I can’t believe you stole my fucking wand.’

Malfoy steps closer to him, pushing him back against the wall and leaning his palms on either side of Harry’s body. Malfoy smells --incredibly sexy. Harry couldn’t even name the scent if he tried, he only knows that it gives him an overwhelming urge to lick the skin beneath Malfoy’s jaw to see if he tastes as good as he smells.

Malfoy leans in closer to his ear . ‘Be gentle with me, Potter,’ he says, his lips brushing against Harry’s earlobe. ‘I bruise easy.’

Harry closes his eyes.

Oh, Jesus.

 

 

:::

 

In the morning, Harry wakes with a hangover, and mortifyingly enough, sticky, come-stained sheets. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and grabs a hangover potion from his dresser. He takes a quick shower before heading out into his kitchen to get some breakfast, dressed only in his tracksuit bottoms, absently scratching his belly. Even after a shower, he’s still bleary eyed as he pads to the kitchen … where he finds Draco Malfoy of all people, dressed in a grey T-shirt too large for his shoulders, and trousers that barely cover his ankles.

Harry closes his eyes briefly as scenes from the night before start to re-implant themselves into his mind.

‘Don’t worry,’ Malfoy says. ‘You didn’t do anything _too_ stupid.’

Harry’s eyes drop down to the red mark on Malfoy’s neck. ‘Oh my God.’

Malfoy looks down. ‘Oh that,’ he says. ‘Yes. Apparently you’re very ‘ hands on’ when you’re wasted, Potter.’

‘Oh my God,’ Harry repeats. He covers his face with his palms and sits in the opposite chair.

‘I am _so_ sorry, Malfoy,’ he says, peeking out from behind his fingers.

Malfoy smirks. ‘I’m not complaining.’

Harry doesn’t even try to respond. It’s too early to get into a conversation with Draco Malfoy. A Draco Malfoy who somehow still looks incredibly delicious, despite also probably being hungover, and with significant bed hair.

Harry makes a move to get up, but Malfoy stands first and stops him with a hand on Harry’s shoulder. ‘No, no,’ he says, pushing Harry back down into his seat. ‘You’re letting me stay in your house. The least I can do is make you breakfast, Harry.’

Harry raises his brows at the use of his first name, but he sits back down at the small breakfast table beside the bay window leading out to the garden, where the early morning light skitters across the table in random shapes.

Draco looks down at him. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘What do you usually have?’

‘Coffee,’ Harry says.

‘That’s it?’ Draco says, turning around and begging to rifle through Harry’s cupboards. ‘How’s an Auror supposed to do his terribly important duties on an empty stomach?’

Harry -caught between trying to decide whether Malfoy’s making fun of him or not- finds himself thoroughly distracted by the thin sliver of skin between Malfoy’s trousers and his shirt, and the way it expands when Malfoy raises his arms. Then there are the two small dimples just before the curve of Malfoy’s arse, and the way the fabric stretches across his skin when he peers into Harry’s kitchen cupboards.

 _Jesus fuck_. Harry closes his eyes.

‘Malfoy, you know, just coffee is just brilliant, thanks.’

Draco turns around and frowns. ‘Fine then.’

He blunders about for quite a while before he turns and asks, ‘How do I – er. Make coffee then?’

Harry points to the coffee maker, and Malfoy pokes at it with one slender finger. ‘Potter, I have no fucking idea what that is, or how to use it.’

Harry tries to hide his smile and fails. ‘It’s okay, Malfoy,’ he says, standing. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

Malfoy huffs and steps aside, but to Harry’s surprise, he stays beside him, watching him closely as he works the coffee machine. Harry’s eyes occasionally drift to Malfoy's face, enjoying the way Malfoy furrows his brows, and bites his lower lip. Malfoy keeps peeking inside the coffee machine, trying, Harry’s certain, to figure out exactly how it works.

Malfoy looks up at him suddenly, catching Harry staring, and his lips curve into a small, hesitant smile. ‘What?’ he says softly.

Harry looks away. ‘Nothing.’

Malfoy returns to staring intently at the coffee maker. He jumps a little when the coffee starts to drip down into the pot and Harry has to hold back a laugh.

‘We have to wait a bit, Malfoy,’ he says. ‘It takes a while. You can get the coffee mugs from the top cupboard.’

Malfoy nods solemnly and reaches into the cupboards again. Harry leans back against the counter, determined to enjoy the view. Malfoy’s shirt—well, Harry’s shirt actually, is thin enough so that Harry can see the outline of his muscular shoulders beneath the fabric, and when he turns around, gesturing with the mugs for Harry to chose one -the black or the red- (Harry chooses the red, of course) he notices the outline of Malfoy’s pert nipple. Harry almost can’t deal with the implication of this knowledge. It’s going to pop up into his mind like a great big red flag every time he looks at Malfoy’s chest, he just know it.

His cock begins to stir in interest, and Harry curls his fingers against the worktop, trying to will himself to calm down. When Malfoy gives him an odd look, Harry hastily looks down at his feet and sighs.

The next few weeks are going to be an exercise in torture.

 

 

:::

Almost two weeks later, Harry puts in a request to the MLE to open up the Malfoy case for review. According to the files, the Ministry took everything. Draco, while on parole, has no access to any of the Malfoy gold. The Manor had been locked up, the vaults at Gringotts closed to anyone but Ministry officials. Everything, legally still belonged to Lucius Malfoy, the head of the Malfoy family, but with Lucius in Azkaban, Harry’s certain there should be some sort of way to make Draco the Malfoy head once more, at least, after his probation is over. This, too leaves Harry curious. It’s been fifteen years since the war, yet Malfoy’s still on probation.

Pansy Parkinson -hardly involved any Death Eater activity- is also still on probation. Flipping through the notes on his desk, he starts to tick off the names of Slytherins still under strict probation. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle all of them limited to certain spells, their bank accounts seized, the actions under surveillance, and for what?

He pens a quick note to Hermione and sends it off with an owl, flipping though the files.  
Draco has a restricted wand; he can’t defend himself if he were attacked.

He hasn’t held a registered job for the entirety of his probation, which makes Harry wonder exactly how Draco makes any kind of money to survive.

There’s a knock on his door and Harry looks up distractedly. ‘Come in.’

Hermione pokes her head in and smiles. ‘You up for a working lunch?’ she says. Harry glances at his watch and groans. It’s after one and he hadn’t even realised.

‘Yeah, come in.’

She walks in, and then Ron peeks his head in behind her, wide grin on his face. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she says. ‘I brought company.’

Harry smiles. ‘No problem.’

They all settle into his office, Harry joins them on his sofa, pulling out the lunch his secretary owl- ordered for him.

 

Hermione and Ron dig in to a box of fish and chips they apparently agreed to share. ‘So,’ Hermione says, licking salt off of her fingers. ‘Your note said you had some questions about probation restrictions?’

‘Yes. I’m a bit confused. How long should the probationary period last?’

Hermione wipes her mouth on a napkin, and raises her styrofoam cup to her lips, sipping thoughtfully.

‘I think it was a case by case basis, Harry. Whose file are you interested in?’

Harry’s eyes flick to Ron’s, who notices the look and raises his eyebrow. Ron nudges Hermione’s shoulder. ‘Two guesses who,’ he says, breaking a piece of fish in his fingers.

‘Yes, all right,’ Harry says, resting his box of curry on the table. ‘I’m talking about Malfoy.’ He shifts his gaze to Hermione. ‘Do you know, he’s been under probation for fifteen years?’

Hermione stills. ‘Limited or full?’

Harry frowns. ‘What’s the difference?’

Hermione stands and edges around his table, grabbing Malfoy’s file from his desk. ‘If I remember correctly,’ she says, flipping through the pages. ‘Malfoy was given five years strict probation, and the rest of his sentence was supposed to be limited, which is perfunctory really. From the looks of his file though, his probation officer never lifted the restrictions.’

Harry walks around his desk, showing her the Parkinson and Nott files. ‘If you look at all of these, you’ll find that none of them had their probation status changed.’

Hermione flips through the files, her eyebrows furrowed, her face turning redder with each document she reads.

‘No,’ she says under her breath. ‘This is wrong. I personally looked into the Parkinson case myself. Her restrictions were to be lifted!’

Ron cleared his throat from across the room. ‘Hermione, did you ever follow up on them in the field?’

Hermione’s expression falters. ‘I didn’t. But—Ron, we were swamped. We had so many cases, I—’

‘I’m not blaming you, love. I’m just saying. Maybe some things have been slipping through the cracks.’

Hermione looks up, eyes wide. ‘Or maybe someone’s been covering this up.’ She lowers the file onto Harry’s desk, and Harry can tell without asking that the wheels in her head are stirring.

‘Harry, did you request these files, or did you Summon them?’

‘I Summoned them,’ Harry says. ‘I was busy and I didn’t want to go all the way down to the archives.’

Hermione nods. ‘I’m willing to bet that those files were not meant to be seen by anyone.’

Harry frowns. ‘Then how is it that I have them?’

‘Probably your rank. Someone overlooked this possibility when they made alterations to the documents. The files that we have in the MLE offices indicate that these witches and wizards are carrying on as normal citizens.’ She covers her mouth with her palm. ‘To think, all this time, I’ve been spending time rallying people for all sorts of other things, when people are going though this. People we know, Harry! People we went to school with.’

She sits next to Ron who puts an arm around her.

‘All of this is supposed to be over,’ she murmurs, leaning into her husband.

Harry picks up another one of the files. ‘It seems like it’s focused on Malfoy,’ he says. ‘Malfoy and all the Slytherins in his year.’

Ron catches Harry’s eyes. ‘If it’s a personal vendetta, Harry, you’ll be hard pressed to find a culprit. Almost everyone has a motive to hurt the Malfoys.’

Harry looks away. ‘I should tell you both something,’ he says. ‘Malfoy’s been living with me for the last week and a half.’

When he looks up, Hermione looks scandalised, and Ron, looks… vaguely amused.

‘And how did this happen?’ he says, lifting his brow.

‘Never mind how it happened!’ Hermione says. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

Harry briefly tells them the story of how Malfoy came to stay with him, carefully omitting the parts where he gave Malfoy a love-bite, or the fifteen thousand almost-kisses. He leaves out his suspicion that Malfoy’s trying to slowly and pleasurably drive him round the twist and that Malfoy, it seems, is a practicing nudist. Or something. All Harry knows is he’s seen more of Malfoy’s naked body than almost any other bloke, and he’s quite convinced that Malfoy’s doing it on purpose. He elects to leave out all of his, mainly because he’s not even sure where anything is going (if it’s going anywhere) and because he’s not even sure he could handle anything _actually_ happening right now. He knows Hermione would push it, and Ron, to whom he once drunkenly confessed his interest in Malfoy, would be too keen to hear the details.

When he’s finished, Hermione gives him a look that plainly states she’s about to say something that might annoy him.

‘Harry, are you sure Malfoy isn’t just using you?’

‘For what? He didn’t ask me to look into any of this, you know. I told him if he needed help to come to me, and he did.’

Hermione presses her lips together. ‘Well, even if that’s the case. You should be careful, Harry. I know you’re…vulnerable right now.’

Harry wants to hotly deny it, but he can’t. It’s true. He feels ... raw after what happened with Terry, and not just because of what Terry did, but the way it made Harry feel. As if Terry had finally proven once and for all that he shouldn’t even try at the whole relationship thing. That maybe it’s one of those things that Harry’s not meant to have. On the other hand, he knows that given the slightest chance, Malfoy could definitely find a way to burrow himself under Harry’s skin. If he hasn’t already.

Ron looks between them, as if trying to decide whether to get involved or not. He sighs and says, ‘Be careful, mate. This is Malfoy we’re talking about.’

Harry nods curtly. ‘Hermione, I’d like you to look into these cases. See who’s been handling them and why their probations haven’t been altered.’

Hermione nods. ‘Of course.’

‘Good.’

There’s a full minute in which Harry awkwardly shuffles his papers and Hermione struggles with herself not to say anything more.

Ron finally breaks the silence when he says, ‘Well, congratulations, Harry. You’ve finally got the prat right where you want him.’

Hermione’s mouth twitches into a small smile, and Harry can’t think of a response that isn’t incriminating, so he chooses not to say anything at all.

 

 

 

Draco loves being able to eat whenever he wants. It was hard getting used to at first, but since his stay with Potter -Harry, as he insists on being called- Draco’s been having three square meals a day and it’s heaven. In the morning, after Harry leaves, Pansy Floos over from the Leaky Cauldron, and they spend most of the day marvelling at the wonders of crisp cotton sheets, a bathtub full of warm water and a pantry stocked with food.

Draco keeps the _Fertilitaire_ in his pocket more often than not, and when Pansy leaves he spends almost half an hour deliberating whether it should be the night he seduces Potter -Harry-or not. Pansy keeps telling him he’s wasting time, and Draco does what he can to convince her that he’s _biding_ his time, when, really he’s not.

He has no idea what he’s doing.

He eats breakfast with Harry. Sometimes they get dinner together. Harry talks about his job and the ways he’s trying to make some sort of a difference. Draco berates him while secretly admiring his courage. Sometimes, it seems as if Harry is seeking Draco’s approval, and Draco can’t think why.

Harry’s done things Draco didn’t expect. He took Draco into Muggle London one evening and told him to pick out a few things from a clothing store that was quite fashionable. At first, Draco hotly refused. But after almost a forty-five minute argument in the streets of London, Harry agreed that everything he’d done for Draco, the food, the clothes, were on loan, and Draco could pay him back _‘when he was back on his feet.’_ It wasn’t that Draco didn’t want these things. It was the humiliation of having them given to him as some sort of gift that made him seethe. It made him feel cheap. In the end, Draco allowed it, and he was forced to swallow his pride yet again.

Living in such close quarters with a man like Harry is unnerving. Draco’s started to notice things. Like the small dimple in Harry’s chin, and the scars at the back of his hand that looks like words --he’s pretty certain he doesn’t want to hear the meaning behind it, but still, he asks. When Harry quietly tells him the story one evening over dinner, Draco is surprised by the fury stirring in the pit of his stomach. This strange sort of protectiveness he feels towards Harry scares him, because he knows it is only the bud of a feeling that takes root much deeper within him. Something that’s been buried inside him for a long time now.

Harry’s almost non-functional without his coffee in the morning. He likes it when Draco takes the time to get it just right, which-for some strange reason- makes Draco feel pleased as well. As though he’s done something well. As though he has some measure of good in him after all. But when Harry pushes his arms through the sleeves of his bright red Auror robes, Draco is torn between wanting to fuck him and wanting to hate him for what he represents. The Ministry and their one-sided justice.

There are _moments_ between them. When Draco hands Harry a cup of coffee in the morning and their fingers touch, or when Harry steps out of the Floo and Draco is there waiting for him on the sofa, and they lock eyes for the briefest of moments before Harry steps and takes off his robes and asks Draco what he’s been up to. The moments are tense and thick and each time Draco tries to pull himself back, tries to remember the plan, the purpose of everything he’s doing and what he’s done. It’s a constant ebb and flow and Draco knows at some point the tide will come in and consume them both. If he closes his eyes now, he could see it happening, he can see himself lying beneath Harry, and he can feel the snap of Harry’s hips against his. He already know what it would feel like to have Harry inside him, all over him, because it has happened already in his mind. More times than he’d like to admit.

But that isn’t what this is supposed to be about.

This is about revenge. Security. Justice, maybe. At least, this is what Pansy tells him. He’s not so sure anymore.

So, it is with trepidation that he drinks the potion in Harry’s bath just before he takes a shower. The potion is dark pink. It smells acrid and makes Draco a little bit faint. He eyes his reflection in the mirror, and reminds himself why he’s doing what he’s doing. For a future of some sort. To get it all back.

He downs the potion and his stomach clenches almost immediately. He grips the edge of the porcelain and hunches over the sink. His stomach dry heaves once, twice. And then everything stops. The only difference he feels in his body is the heaviness of his heart.

 

 

:::

It’s Friday evening, and Harry likes to have a drink or two on Fridays. Draco dresses in a way he knows Harry likes. A thin T- shirt, jeans and nothing on his feet. He uncaps a bottle of wine and sets it on the worktop, pouring himself a glass. He can feel the potion churning just under his skin. It’s working to make his body more appealing, prepared for sex and conception. His nipples are pert and sensitive, his cock already half hard. The muscles in his arsehole are relaxed. Draco takes a few deep breaths and sips the wine.

He’s a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. This should be easy.

He doesn’t plan to give Harry a chance for second thoughts. When he comes through the Floo, Draco sets down his wine glass and smiles fetchingly as Harry shucks his robes and drops it onto the sofa.

‘Wine?’ he says, lifting a glass.

Harry eyes him warily for a moment, and then he moves closer to Draco, with a frown on his face. ‘Did you do something different with your hair or something?’

Draco smiles and pours Harry a glass. ‘No.’

Harry sits on the stool opposite him and hesitantly takes the wineglass. ‘I didn’t know I had wine,’ he says.

Draco shrugs. ‘I had to look for it, but you had one hidden in the pantry.’

Harry sips it delicately. ‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘Not that I know much about wine.’

Draco sips his wine thoughtfully. ‘I don’t remember what I knew about wine,’ he murmurs.

Harry rests his wine down on the smooth granite, clearly about to say something of extreme importance, but Draco stops him by leaning across the counter and brushing his lips softly against Harry’s.

He tastes like wine and treacle tart. Harry lifts his hand and lightly grips Draco’s bicep. Draco gently pulls away, noting that Harry’s eyes are closed, and that he sighs softly when they part.

Harry opens his eyes, his brow furrowed in confusion. ‘What was that for?’

Draco shrugs. ‘I wanted to,’ he says. ‘Didn’t you like it?’

Harry licks his lips. ‘I think you know the answer to that.’

Draco steps around the worktop, just in front of Harry. Harry reaches out for him and pulls him closer, his fingers lightly encircling Draco’s thin wrist. Draco settles himself in the space between Harry's thighs and drapes his arms across Harry’s shoulders. ‘Let’s try that again, shall we?’

Harry’s eyes drop to Draco’s lips. ‘God yes.’

Draco leans down and kisses him again, cupping Harry’s face in his palms, just barely holding back a groan when Harry snakes his tongue into his mouth, exploring it boldly and more intimately than Draco expected. Everything should be hard and fast. This is how he pictured it in his head, but instead it’s smooth and soft and Harry’s tracing his fingers along Draco’s sides. Draco begins to feel himself slipping into the sheer headiness of the moment. Pansy’s plan slips into the darkest recesses of his mind, and when he threads his fingers into Harry’s soft, thick hair and Harry pulls him even closer, Draco starts sink beneath the tide.

He pulls away abruptly, stepping back and putting his hand to his lips. It’s all slipping away now. All of his reasons have been narrowed down into one simple thing.

Want.

He backs up into the worktop, breathing unsteadily. Harry leans back into his chair heavily, and lifts his eyebrows. His lips are red and bruised, his glasses lopsided, his shirt pulled out of his trousers. Draco doesn’t even remember doing that, but he must have.

Harry stands up very slowly, approaching him as one would approach a frightened creature, and Draco backs up into the worktop even more.

‘Hey,’ Harry says. ‘It’s ok.’

Harry moves closer to him, and Draco reaches out, hooking his fingers into Harry’s belt loops and pulling him closer until Harry’s breath puffs against his cheek.

‘This could be something you might regret later,’ Draco murmurs.

Harry cups his cheek and threads his fingers in the hair at Draco’s nape. Draco leans into his touch and closes his eyes. He can’t help it anymore. He doesn’t want to.

‘I don’t see how I could regret something I’ve wanted for ages,’ Harry says.

Draco forces himself to look into Harry’s eyes. They’re really quite something. He’s heard people talk about them, of course, but nothing compares to actually staring into them from a hair's breadth away. They’re brighter than Draco realized, and even with his pupils dilated as they are now, their deep-green colour-never quite diminishes. His lashes are thick, dark and long; they curve delicately against his cheek. Draco tentatively touches Harry’s cheek and then he leans in and brushes his lips against Harry’s one more time. Harry groans and presses his body into Draco’s, as if he were just waiting for that simple act of permission. A thrill runs up the length of Draco’s spine when Harry’s hard length presses into his thigh. Draco responds by pressing his hips forward, and Harry breaks the kiss, looking up at him intensely.

‘You want it too, don’t you.’

It’s a statement rather than a question, but Draco nods anyway. Harry lifts him by the waist and sets him on the worktop, nudging himself between Draco's legs and pushing up the fabric of his shirt. Draco helps by lifting his arms and easing the shirt off of his head. He drops the shirt on the counter, shaking out his hair, and looks down at Harry who’s watching him with such a raw expression that it leaves Draco panting for breath. Harry leans forward and takes Draco’s already sensitive nipple into his mouth. Draco arches his back, making a harsh noise that echoes against the walls.

‘I knew they’d be sensitive,’ Harry murmurs. He traces the shape of it with his tongue and then bites down on the swollen nub with his teeth. Draco bucks beneath him, grabbing a fistful of Harry’s hair tightly and softly calling out his name.

Harry leans back briefly to unbutton his shirt, and Draco pushes it off of Harry’s shoulders, watching it flutter to the floor. He maps the expanse of Harry’s broad chest with his palms, stroking downward across his abs, down to dark line of hair that disappears beneath his trousers. Draco hops off the worktop and trails his fingers along the curve of Harry’s hip, thinking about how that skin would feel beneath his tongue. He unbuckles Harry’s trousers and pushes them down.

Harry watches him intently and Draco drops to his knees. He nuzzles the fabric of Harry’s pants with his nose, and Harry grunts softly. Draco leans back on his haunches and Harry takes the moment to pull off his pants and trousers completely, tossing it somewhere across the room. His thick cock presses up against his belly, and Draco stares at it for a moment before moving forward and licking the length of it with his tongue.

Harry tenses and Draco wraps his hand around Harry’s cock, bringing it to his lips and sucking lightly on the head in a way that makes Harry jerk his hips forward and grab a fistful of Draco’s hair.

There’s no way he can take the entire length of Harry’s cock in his mouth so he jerks the base with his palm while sucking on the head, tonguing Harry’s slit mercilessly. When he’s sure Harry’s close, he pulls away abruptly and stands. Harry tugs him forward and kisses him hard.

‘I want to fuck you.’

‘Good,’ Draco says. ‘Because I want you to.’

They move unsteadily to the living room. Harry pushes Draco back up against the wall, unbuckling Draco’s trousers with unsteady hands. Harry pushes them down, along with Draco’s underwear, and Draco steps out of them, balancing himself with a hand on Harry’s shoulder. When they’re off, Harry hugs Draco close. Draco’s heart is thudding in his chest.

He’s evil. He knows it now. He’s the lowest of the low.

Harry lips work at the skin beneath his neck. Draco arches his back, lifting his chin to feel more. Harry nips under his jaw, working the flesh of Draco’s earlobe between his teeth. Draco slumps against the wall. His knees are weak.

He wants to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist and have Harry hold him close and make love to him right here against the wall. He wants Harry inside of him and all over him at the same time.

But that’s fantasy. This is a seduction. It’s not meant to be anything more.

He can’t let it be anything more.

He pulls away and turns to face the wall, arching his back and presenting his arse for Harry to use. To fuck him rough, and hard, the way this was supposed to be. He wants to have this over with.

Draco glances over his shoulder and says, ‘Fuck me.’

Instead, Harry drops to his knees and spreads Draco’s arse cheeks. Draco’s hips jerk uncontrollably, and he groans when Harry kneads his arse his palms.

‘God, Draco, you look so tight.’ Harry breaths. Draco gasps as the tip of Harry’s tongue presses against his hole. He shudders and grips at the wall. His nails scratch uselessly at the paint. Harry keeps working Draco’s hole with his tongue until Draco’s almost certain he can’t hold himself up any more. His cock is leaking, angry red, twitching in arousal.

‘ _Fuck_ , Harry, please.’

Harry pulls away and his tongue is replaced with the thick head of his cock. He starts easing his way in, but Draco pushes his hips back and impales himself. They both groan loudly, and Harry grips Draco’s hips.

‘Move, Harry. Fuck me.’

Harry begins to move, and Draco stops thinking about anything but this moment. The _feel_ of everything, the slight burn in his arse, the force of Harry’s thrusts, the way Harry’s thick cock massages the pleasure point inside him no matter the angle Harry takes. The way his thighs are quaking. It’s almost too much, just on the right side of overwhelming. He’s certain he’s making enough noise to wake the neighbours, but he doesn’t care, because Harry’s just as loud, and this might very well be the fuck he measures all fucks against for the rest of his life.

Draco reaches for his cock and starts to stroke himself along with Harry’s thrusts. It doesn’t take much for him to come, he’s been teetering on the edge of orgasm for some time. He watches, bleary eyed as beads of come drop to the floor, and he squeezes his cock hard, milking every last drop. His arsehole clenches around Harry’s cock making him feel even fuller than before. Harry pitches forward, draping himself across Draco’s back.

‘ _Fuck_ Draco.’

He moans softly when he comes, and his thrusts become erratic and longer than before. The sharp twist of magic in Draco’s gut is enough to remind him of what he’s done. This is it. The door has been shut.

Harry gently pulls out of him and Draco leans against the wall, eyes closed. He feels the vague urge to cry, but he knows that would raise too many questions, so he takes a few deep breaths instead. Harry gently turns him around and kisses him softly on the mouth.

‘Draco, look at me,’ he says.

Draco opens his eyes, and Harry’s there, close, pushed up against him and breathing heavy. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and their slick chests slide against each other. Draco kisses him again, sucking Harry’s full bottom lip into his mouth and sighing softly.

He wraps his legs around Harry’s waist Harry drags his palms along Draco’s thighs until they rest just beneath his arse.

‘Take me to bed,’ Draco says.

Harry nods. ‘Okay.’

Draco holds tight as Harry rounds the corner to his room, moving as though Draco weighs nothing at all. Draco buries his nose in Harry's hair, promising to himself that he won’t ever forget what it smells like. No matter what happens.

 

 

:::

In the morning, Draco wakes before Harry and he spends the time staring at the ceiling, absently stroking his stomach. It’s strange to be in Harry’s bed. It’s softer than the bed in the guest bedroom. Larger.

He rolls to his side and watches Harry sleep. He’d expected Harry to sleep sprawled out on his back, but Harry sleeps with his face pillowed on his bicep, and his legs tucked into his body. His mouth his slightly open, brows furrowed, and he grips his thumbs in his fingers. Draco reaches out and gently pries his hand open, and the muscles in Harry’s face relax. Draco watches him. He spends almost ten minutes just watching. He smoothes Harry’s brow with his fingers; he startles when Harry sighs softly and relaxes further. That he could have such an effect on Harry, even in his sleep, is a little strange and a lot terrifying. Harry said he’d wanted Draco ‘for ages.’ Draco doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know where to put it. So it lands somewhere in his chest where it feels heavy and painful because he knows he’s deceived Harry.

When Harry opens his eyes and smiles at him, Draco actually feels a physical hurt beginning to bloom in his ribcage, and it feels as if he can’t breathe. He’s fucked everything up and they haven’t even got started.

‘Morning,’ Harry says.

Draco doesn’t know how to respond. It must be some kind of magic. No one has ever been able to make him feel so deeply as he does now.

Harry edges close to him and reaches out with his hand, smoothing Draco’s hair behind his ear.

‘Let’s not be awkward, okay?’ he says. ‘Let's just get it all out now, then we can take a shower together, and I can fuck you again.’

Draco’s breath hitches. He wants that. He really does.

‘Harry, I’m not sure this is a good idea.’

Harry raises his eyebrow. ‘That bad, was it?’

Draco gives him a look. ‘You know it was amazing.’

Harry’s face colours slightly and he smiles. ‘I thought so, too,’ he says. ‘So what’s the problem?’

‘There are a lot of problems, Harry. I’m a Death Eater, you’re an Auror. I have nothing. I’m –-not a good person. I’ve done things…’

‘Things?’

‘Things. I’ve broken the law. You could probably arrest me now if you wanted.’

Harry moves in even closer, running his fingers along the fine blond hairs on Draco’s arm.

‘I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that.’

Draco shivers a bit as gooseflesh appears on his arms. He can’t figure out if he’s embarrassed or turned on by the effect Harry has on him.

‘You know what I’m like, Harry. You know what I’ve done.’

‘That was years ago, Draco,’ Harry says. He reaches out to trace the faint scars on Draco’s chest. ‘I know what I’ve done, too.’

Draco looks down at Harry’s lips. ‘I’m a whore,’ he blurts. ‘I let men suck me off for money.’

Harry stills. ‘Why are you trying to scare me away?’

‘I want you to know who you’re dealing with.’

‘I already know. I’ve known you since I was eleven. I’m not going to judge you for what you did to survive. I know the Ministry fucked you over. Believe me, I’m working on it. But don’t try to scare me away when I know that’s not what you want.’

Draco traces the shape of Harry’s lips with his thumb. ‘How do you know what I want?’ he whispers.

‘I just do.’

Draco leans in and kisses Harry softly, chastely, and then he pulls away.

‘I’m not perfect either, Draco,’ Harry says. ‘Just –don’t fuck with me, and we’ll be all right.’

Draco’s heart hammers loudly in his chest, and when Harry reaches for him again, he lets himself relax, he lets Harry crawl over his body, let’s him nudge his thighs apart, and when Harry’s inside him again, he grips his neck tightly and scratches his nails against Harry’s scalp.

Harry hovers over him and then kisses him hard enough to take his breath away. When he pulls away, his green eyes are wide, and he looks down at Draco as if he’s searching for something.

‘Don’t fuck with me,’ he repeats. ‘I’m already in too deep with you.’

Draco can only nod, and Harry’s body shudders and thrusts into him. Draco doesn’t open his eyes again until Harry comes inside him.

 

 

 

:::

Draco looks up absently when the Floo flares and Pansy steps out.

She’s dressed in one of the jeans and t-shirt he secretly got for her on his clothing expedition with Harry. She looks firmer, more solid, just like he expects he looks if he checked in the mirror to see the difference. They’ve both been benefiting from this charade. He closes his eyes briefly and then stands to greet her.

He’s been putting off this visit for the last few weeks. Sending her owls and advising her to stay away because ‘He’s working on Harry.’ When the truth is they’ve mostly been fucking around the house. Occasionally going out to dinners, and, just once, an awkward nosh at Weasley-Granger’s strange little home. He’d met their children, the energetic seven- year-old girl with a bossy streak to match her Mother’s, and the quiet and reserved Hugo, who ‘accidentally’ charmed his sister’s hair blue during the meal.

Draco wasn’t surprised when Ron pulled him aside and warned him what would happen if he hurt Harry ‘just a little bit,’ nor was he surprised at the suspicious looks Granger kept throwing at him over the dinner table. If they knew what he was really up to, he’s sure Weasley wouldn’t hesitate to pound his face in.

In the evenings, after they fuck, they spend hours together wrapped in each other, and Harry tells Draco his secrets. He says things to Draco that sometimes he can’t even fathom. He wonders how someone so strong could be so open and vulnerable with him at the same time. Harry’s laid himself bare, and Draco, knowing it’s only fair, tries his best to reciprocate. He tells Harry what it was like sometimes with _Him_ in the Manor or after the war. A few of the places he’s been, some of the things he’s done. He tells Harry about the times he and Pansy literally slept in the street because they had nowhere else to go, huddled together for warmth. Harry tenses every time he talks about things like that, and he keeps saying things like, _I’m sorry about what happened to you_ , and _I’m working on it._

Draco’s never stretched himself to try to figure out what that means. But now… he thinks he might understand, just a little, what Harry means when he tells him he’s already in too deep. And if Draco’s honest with himself, he’s in too deep as well.

They’re both wrapped up in each other now, and it’s going to hurt like hell when they’ll have to prise themselves apart. And Draco knows they will.

Pansy dusts off her jeans, takes one look at his face and says, ‘You’ve done it.’

He nods absently and she beams at him, lifting her arms to pull him into brief hug, and Draco allows it. ‘Oh, well done,’ she says. ‘This is perfect timing. Did you see the _Prophet_ this morning?’

‘No,’ he says softly. ‘What is it?’

She unshrinks the paper from her pocket and lays it flat on the coffee table.

The headline reads,

 

 

_‘Lucius Malfoy To Be Released Early!’_

Draco drops onto the sofa and scans the article quickly. ‘Apparently he’s to be released for--’

‘Good behaviour, I know.’

Draco tosses the paper aside, trying to calm down the butterflies in his stomach. His father, out. He has to get word to his mother somehow. He’s not sure exactly where she is now. He doesn’t even know where to start looking. It’s been too long.

‘He’s out next week, Draco,’ she says. ‘I think he’d approve of our little scheme, wouldn’t you?’

Draco swallows the bit of bile rising up in his throat. ‘Forgive me, Pansy, if I’m no longer interested in doing anything my father would approve of.’

Pansy sits next to him and puts her hand on his shoulder. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘I got an owl from Gringotts this morning.’

Pansy lifts her brows expectantly, and he pulls it from his shirt pocket and hands it to her wordlessly.

She unfolds the thick parchment, and Draco looks out of the front window while she reads. He stands and walks away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking out onto the street.

‘Draco, if this is correct, it means… ’

‘It means I have everything back. The Manor, too, if you check the property listings. All the Malfoy gold was returned to my vault. All the contents of the Manor restored.’

‘But.. why? Who could do something like this?’

‘Harry, of course.’

Pansy jumps off the sofa and walks over to him, turning him around to face her. ‘It’s _Harry_ now, is it?’ she asks. ‘Did you tell him already? I thought we were going to wait until the right moment—‘

‘I didn’t tell him, Pansy.’

‘Then why—’ she covers her mouth with her palm, her eyes wide. ‘My God. He loves you, doesn’t he? You’ve done it, Draco. You own him now.’

‘Oh, shut up, Pansy, don’t you see? He’s done all this and I haven’t even told him about the baby yet. I didn’t have to do it. I didn’t have to deceive him.’

Pansy’s mouth drops. She smiles a bit uncertainly and folds her arms just beneath her breasts. ‘Oh, Draco please tell me this is the hormones talking. You’re not falling for him, are you?’

Draco clenches his jaw and turns away slightly, looking at the rain drenching the front garden. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Draco. You can’t fall for Potter! He’s… he’s... ’

‘He’s what, Pansy? Too good for the someone like me?’

‘He’s not what you want!’

‘How would you know what I want? You have no fucking idea what I want! You never have.’

Pansy scowls. ‘Well, I’ve always known how to give you what you need. Whether you realise it or not.’

Draco pushes past her and walks into the kitchen, and Pansy follows close behind. ‘Draco, you’re not seriously going to try to… shack up with Potter permanently, are you? He’s going to find out what you did, and he’s never going to forgive you. Is that what you want?’

He slams the kettle onto the hob and spins around. ‘Was that a threat?’

‘Draco, you’re meant to take what you need from Potter and then leave. He’ll never want you if he knew everything about you. Does he know what you’ve done?’

‘He knows everything. He even knows I was a whore -like you.’

Pansy slaps him hard across the cheek. ‘Fuck you.’

Draco massages his cheek briefly. ‘Pansy just stop and listen. I have to _end_ this. I already have what I need. You can move into the Manor. I’ll help you. Just give me a chance to try to… work things out with Harry. Don’t mess with this, okay?’

‘This wasn’t the plan, Draco.’

Draco makes a sound of annoyance. ‘Really? What was it then? Was the plan that I end up with you?’

At first he says it without any real implication, but when he sees the look on Pansy’s face, his stomach drops.

‘Oh, Pansy…’

‘Don’t,’ she says, holding up a hand. ‘Don’t you dare pity me. I know you could never love me the way I love you, but I’d hoped… I don’t know what I’d hoped.’

Draco licks his lips. ‘Pansy, I’m sorry,’ he says.

The rain begin to fall heavily, and the sounds of raindrops pattering against the glass echo throughout the living room.

Draco laughs softly. ‘Look at that,’ he murmurs. ‘Both caught in our own webs.’

He looks at Pansy. ‘Leave it be, please,’ he says. ‘Let me handle it.’

 

 

 

:::

That night, when he’s wrapped in Harry’s arms in bed, Draco leans over and shows Harry the letter from Gringotts. ‘Did you do this, Harry?’

Harry glances at it, and then sets it down on his pillow. ‘Yes. I had help from Hermione, but, yes, that was me.’

Draco frowns. ‘Granger? Why would she care?’

Harry sighs, and slips his fingers beneath Draco’s trousers to cup his arse and pull him closer. Draco hooks his leg across Harry’s and their cloth-covered erections brush against each other.

‘Because what happened to you was wrong,’ Harry murmurs, pushing Draco’s hair off his face. ‘Your probation was supposed to be lifted years ago, Draco. I’m investigating the case myself.’

‘Why? Why are you doing all this?’

‘Because I like you, you gormless git. Very much.’

Draco kisses Harry’s palm lightly. ‘You shouldn’t, you know,’ he says. ‘You’ll mess up the order of things.’

Harry raises his brow. ‘The order of things?’

‘Yes. You should be with the girl Weasley. Or maybe the Ravenclaw girl you liked so much,’ Draco says. He hesitates. ‘Maybe you would have had –children by now.’

Harry remains quiet for a moment. ‘How do you know who I liked in school?’

‘Everyone knew, Harry. You’re terrible at subtlety.’

‘So why has it taken you so long to notice I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen?’

Draco’s breath catches in his chest. He’s never felt more like a complete bastard until now. ‘You haven’t,’ he says unsteadily.

‘I have.’

Draco kisses him hard, sighing when Harry pushes his tongue into his mouth. Draco gently moves away, stroking Harry’s stubbled cheek and tracing the downy soft hairs at the edge of his hairline.

‘You have appalling taste, Harry,’ he murmurs.

Harry smirks. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Draco. You’re actually pretty good in bed.’

Draco smacks Harry’s arm lightly, and a comfortable silence stretches between them.

‘My father’s being released next week,’ Draco murmurs.

‘I know. That wasn’t me though. His case was up for review.’

Draco bites his lower lip. ‘You’re giving him everything back; you realize that, don’t you?’

‘I’m giving it to you, Draco. You’re the head of the Malfoy family now. Not him.’

Draco closes his eyes. ‘We’ll see about that,’ he says softly.

Harry kisses Draco’s forehead, holding him protectively. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘It’ll be all right.’

Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, holding him tight. ‘Fuck me, will you?’

‘I’d love to.’

 

 

 

 

:::

The peacocks never left the Manor.

Draco wonders how they survived. They’re completely wild now --not that they were ever tame. The garden is overgrown and riddled with gnomes. The Venemous Tentacula has firmly wrapped itself around most of the flower beds. The outer walls are covered in moss and vines, yet the Manor still stands, ominous and imposing as it ever was.

Most of his house-elves are either dead or sold off, but the Ministry provided him with six competent elves as ‘compensation’ for his loss. All Harry’s doing, Draco knows.

He’s spent the past week torn between vomiting at every other smell or sensation in his stomach and trying to settle back into the Manor. The white, dust covered sheets were all removed with a simple spell. The wood preservation and anti-infestation charms held. There’s minimal water damage in the stone dungeons, though his winery is completely flooded out.

The rooms look much the same as he’d left them fifteen years ago.

Draco sleeps in his old room with Harry by his side. The house is too big for him. T0o grand. He wants his mother to come home.

When, during the night, the branches tap on the windows, he curls into Harry, and Harry holds him closer without comment. Harry leaves in the mornings before Draco wakes, and Draco spends the rest of the morning, inhaling his scent that lingers in the Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s one of the few smells he can stomach without wanting to heave.

Yesterday, he’d gone to a Healer, a discreet, private Healer now that he could afford to pay the exorbitant fees. She confirmed the news. He is pregnant --six weeks, to be exact. Draco spent the rest of the examination wondering what it would be like to have Harry by his side. He wondered what it would be like, if Harry were holding his hand, smiling at him, marvelling at the baby growing inside his stomach. When his eyes filled, the Healer made sympathetic noises, saying it was normal for a man in his condition to be emotional. Draco scowled, took his dosage of prenatal potions and then left.

 

 

Today, he’s going to Azkaban to pick up his father. Harry offered to go with him, but Draco wants to do it alone. He doesn’t want Harry around his father just yet.

There’s a boat that one must take in order to get to the island. Stepping into it, seeing the island loom closer with each passing second, is one of the most unnerving things Draco’s ever experienced. It was only because of Harry’s testimony all those years ago that he avoided this place.

The wind whips his hair around his face, and he pulls his coat closer around him, burrowing into his thick collar. On the island, the warden comes to him personally to escort him inside.

The shadow of the Dementors lingers everywhere. Despair is painted on the walls. Draco’s suddenly quite certain it’s not healthy for him or the baby to be here, so he tries to usher the warden along in his unrequested tour as much as he can. The warden takes him into a small, cavernous room with a desk and two chairs, then tells him to sit and wait.

‘You father has a few papers to sign, his possessions to collect, and then he will join you in here. You can take either the Portkey from this room into London, or you can Disapparate. This is the only un-secured room on the island.’

Draco nods and sits, and almost half an hour passes before his father, tall, ragged, with stubbly cheeks and almost completely grey hair walks into the room. Draco expected him to stumble, he expected his father to look weak, but other than the colour of his hair, he looks no different than he did all those years ago, sitting at the table in The Great Hall hoping that no one would turn the wand on them, which of course, they did.

His father eyes him for a moment, and then he steps fully into the room. Draco stands abruptly and walks around the table, stopping just short of his father.

Lucius’ grey widen, searching Draco’s face eagerly. ‘Look at you,’ he says softly.

‘Dad.’ He didn’t expect the rush of affection that he feels for his father. He didn’t expect his throat to close up, or for Lucius to look at him like he’s eleven years old again, and boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

He doesn’t know who breaches the gap first, but then Draco steps forward and hugs his father tightly. Lucius holds him close, occasionally squeezing Draco’s arms as if to remind himself that the moment is actually real.

Lucius steps back and holds Draco at arm’s length. ‘Your mother?’

Draco shakes his head. ‘I don’t know where she is,’ he says. ‘I’ve tried to find her.’

‘How long?’ he asks. ‘How long has she been gone?’

‘I lost track of her two years ago. I’m sorry, Dad. It’s been... difficult.’

Lucius nods. ‘I know it has.’

‘They gave it all back though,’ Draco says bitterly. ‘As if to make up for everything.’

‘I know,’ Lucius says quietly. ‘We do get mail here, son. You might have forgotten that.’

Draco's face heats. ‘I didn’t know what to say.’

Lucius inclines his head, but doesn’t respond.

‘Have you gotten all your things?’ Draco asks.

Lucius raises his eyebrows. ‘I came here with nothing,’ he says. ‘I had nothing to collect.’

Draco swallows. ‘We’ll fix that,’ he says. ‘The Manor is just like it was. I’m sure all your old things are there.’

Lucius waves this off, and then he frowns and lifts Draco’s chin. ‘You don’t look well,’ he says. He looks away briefly, and then hesitates. ‘I imagine it’s been terribly hard for you, Draco,’ he murmurs. ‘I thought about it quite a bit, in that cell. That you were out there, and I was safe in here. Fed. Clothed. I hoped every day that it was the same for you. You and your mother.’

He sighs and drops his hand. ‘I can tell by the look in your eyes that it wasn’t.’

Draco shakes his head, irritated by the way his throat closes up. Disgusted with himself for the tears that slowly track down his cheeks.

His father makes a small, aggrieved sound. Lucius always hated to see him cry.

Draco wipes his cheeks quickly.

‘We have a lot to talk about, I see,’ Lucius says.

‘We do,’ Draco whispers. ‘Take my arm, Dad. I’ll take us home.’

 

 

 

:::

Draco asks Harry to stay away from the Manor for a few days so that his father can adjust. Harry doesn’t take to the suggestion immediately.

‘What about Parkinson?’ he says, seated across from Draco in Harry’s living room. ‘She’s moved into the Manor hasn’t she?’

‘She has nowhere else to go, Harry.’

‘She kicked you out though. Aren’t you upset about that at all?’

Draco looks away. ‘We’re fine now,’ he says. ‘Besides, Dad’s used to Pansy. I’m not sure he can stomach a Potter strutting around his mansion, much less buggering his son just yet.’

Harry’s mouth twitches. ‘Did you just say “buggering”?’

Draco smiles. ‘Shut up.’

A wave of nausea passes and Draco closes his eyes briefly.

‘Are you all right?’ Harry asks, leaning closer and putting his hand across Draco’s forehead.

Draco leans into his touch. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’ve been sick a lot, lately,’ Harry says. ‘I’ve noticed.’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Draco—’

‘Just, leave it, Harry, all right?’

Harry presses his lips together, and Draco takes the opportunity to climb into his lap.

‘I think,’ he says, unbuttoning Harry’s collar, ‘that if we’re going to have to spend a few days apart. We should make up for it right now.’

Harry smirks. ‘Do you?’

Draco rolls his hips and Harry groans.

‘Absolutely.’

 

 

 

 

Draco leaves almost three hours later, Flooing into his bedroom in the Manor. Dibly, a small, barely-trained butler-elf , immediately appears in his room to take his things.

‘How is master Lucius,’ Draco asks, absently pulling off his shirt.

‘Master is making a mess in the Diamond suite he is. Dibly is telling him not to be upsetting himself, but he is not listening.’

Draco sighs. ‘Thank you, Dibly,’ he says. The elf Disapparates and Draco rummages through his things and pulls on a t-shirt, changing his trousers for tracksuit bottoms.

He pads out into the hallway, bumping into Pansy who looks flushed and upset. Draco frowns and grabs her arm to steady her.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing,’ she says, pulling away. ‘I had a disagreement with your father.’

‘About?’

‘He had questions. Do you think he didn’t notice you’ve been gone for most of the day? He asked me about your life. Who you've been seeing.’

‘And I bet you were all too happy to report.’

‘He thought I was upset,’ she says bitterly. ‘He expected us to be together.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I told him you were fucking Potter.’

Draco pinches his nose bridge and sighs. ‘Of course you did.’

‘He didn’t seem surprised.’

‘What?’

‘He said it “wasn’t unexpected” whatever that means.’

‘You didn’t tell him what we did, did you?’

Pansy stares mulishly at the floor.

‘For fuck’s sake, Pansy!’

‘I thought he would be on my side!’ Pansy exclaims. ‘But of course he isn’t. No one is.’

‘That’s rubbish and you know it. I’m your friend. I’m on your side!’

Pansy scowls ‘How can you be on my side if you're in love with Potter!’

Draco pulls her aside, looking around to see if his father is anywhere close by. ‘Will you keep it down!’

‘You’re blind, Draco. You think everything will work out because it’s _‘romantic’_. Have you forgotten what we’ve been through?’

‘Of course I haven’t.’

‘It won’t work out for you and Potter, Draco. Not the way you want.’ She takes a deep breath and brushes her long, brown hair off of her shoulder. ‘The baby will give you power over him! But only if you use it. Draco!’

‘I can’t listen to this right now.’ Draco sidesteps her starts walking to his father’s room, when he rounds the many corners of the mansion and he can hear the echo of things being thrown around in the Master suite. He speeds up, stopping abruptly in the doorway of the Master suite.

The door is flung wide open, the room is utter chaos. Lucius is bent over a small box, trying to pry it open with his fingers.

‘Dad? What are you doing!’

Lucius looks up briefly. ‘Looking for something.’ He opens the box and scowls, apparently disappointed by what’s inside. He flings the box across the room Draco steps in warily, looking around the once-pristine Master suite.

Lucius’ hair is pulled back into a low, messy ponytail. He’s neglected to shave. He’s exchanged his robes in favour of simple Muggle attire, a crisp white shirt and jeans. Where he got them, Draco doesn’t know. He looks nothing like the Lucius he grew up with, and it’s probably the most unnerving thing about this whole situation.

‘Dad? You might be scaring me just a little bit.’

Lucius looks up, a harassed expression on his face. ‘Never mind that,’ he says, pushing a lock of his hair behind his ear. ‘What are you going to do about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into?’

Draco leans against the doorway, pushing his hands into his pockets. ‘I don’t know.’

Lucius raises his eyebrows. ‘You don’t know,’ he repeats.

He turns around and continues rummaging through the mess of clothes and shoes. sheets, parchment, and random artefacts piles into loose heaps on the floor.

Draco watches from afar, too nervous to ask any real questions. When his father abruptly kneels down onto the floor, Draco steps forward. Lucius digs up an old wooden box from between two shrunken chests and layers of potions scrolls and runes texts. He grins suddenly and stands, bring it over to Draco with his arms outstretched.

‘Open it,’ he murmurs. ‘A simple unlocking charm will do.’

Draco looks at him, faintly alarmed. ‘We need to get you a wand.’

Lucius shrugs. ‘We’ll do that tomorrow. I’ve been so long without it... ’ He shrugs and gestures with the box. ‘Come on. Open it.’

_‘Alohomora.’_

The box springs open, and inside, is a simple platinum band, shimmering with magic.

Lucius smiles and pulls the ring out, slipping it onto his ring finger and dropping the wooden box onto the floor.

‘Is that your wedding ring?’

‘Yes,’ Lucius says, not looking away from the wedding band. ‘I’ll find your mother with this.’

Draco’s chest blooms with hope. ‘Really?’

Lucius nods, then he looks up at his son, twirling his ring absently on his finger. ‘You have two options, Draco,’ he says. ‘You either get rid of it, or you face the consequences of your actions.’

Draco swallows and looks away. ‘I know that--’

‘Hush and let me finish.’

Draco presses his lips together and folds his arms across his chest.

‘You’ve done something that doesn’t only affect the two of you.’ Lucius hesitates, then he gestures to Draco's stomach. ‘How far along are you?’

Draco, for the first time, gives into the urge to press his hand against his stomach. ‘Six weeks.’

‘Six weeks,’ Lucius repeats softly. ‘You’re already a father. Now you have decide what kind of father you want to be.’

Lucius’ eyes flick to the photograph on the mantelpiece, and Draco follows his gaze. It’s an image of Draco at six years old, in his father’s arms. The expression on his father’s face is severe, but when he looks down at his son --at Draco, his expressions softens.

‘I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life, Draco,’ Lucius says, turning back to him. ‘So have you. But we _can_ move on. We could be better... ’

‘I thought we were already “better”, Dad. At least that’s what you’ve always taught me.’

Lucius nods. ‘It’s what I was taught, too,’ he says. ‘But I think we’re both old enough to realise that our fathers were complete tossers.’ Lucius attempts a smile. ‘And maybe you’ll do better by your son.’

Draco swallows the lump in his throat. ‘Or daughter,’ he murmurs.

Lucius puts his hand on his shoulder. ‘Tell him, Draco.’

 

 

 

 

The letter in itself was ominous. A simple request from Draco to come to the Manor, _“to talk”_. Harry doesn't respond immediately, instead he broods over it at lunch with Hermione and then for the rest of the afternoon in his meetings. The investigation into botched probation cases is turning up blank. No one can be found guilty because there’s no record of tampering anywhere.

‘It’s a cover up, Harry,’ Hermione says over lunch. ‘There are just some things even you don’t have the power to investigate.’

Harry simply scowled into his plate, determined not to let it go. Not when it was something that affected Draco for so long.

When Hermione reaches her hand across the table and asks what’s wrong, he doesn't answer.

The truth is, he doesn’t really _know_ what’s wrong. He’s had a vague sense of unease for the last few days. He knows it’s centred around Draco, but he can’t tell if it’s simply his insecurity starting to gnaw at him, or if there is a legitimate issue.

He has an inkling that Draco’s hiding something from him. In the last few months he's gotten to know Draco and all his tells. The way his Adam’s apple bobs when he’s nervous, or the way he taps his fingers on his thighs when if he’s dying to say something.

Since his father was released from Azkaban, Harry’s seen Draco only once. Granted, it’s only been a week, but he’d gotten use to seeing Draco every day.

It’s not just the sex he missed- it’s the comfort of being in Draco’s company, the smell of his skin, the touch of Draco’s soft, silky hair against Harry’s cheeks. Waking up in the middle of the night to find that Draco’s flung his arm across Harry’s chest. These are the things Harry misses. Things he’s grown to love.

And that’s a scary word isn’t it?

Ron, surprisingly, was the first one to ask ‘Do you love him?’ over dinner at the Burrow. Harry didn’t say anything in response, but Ron said his silence was enough of an answer.

‘I’m happy for you, mate,’ he said to him as they walked through the garden . ‘I really am. Even if I don’t particularly like the git. If you love him, that’s all I need to hear.’

Harry merely nodded, caught in an embarrassing fit of emotions. Ron looked away hastily, too, probably trying to cover up emotions of his own.

Now, sitting in his desk chair, twirling Draco’s letter in his fingers, Harry really contemplates the question.

Does he love Draco?

_Yes._

The answer comes to him so fast, Harry looks around to see if maybe someone else had spoken it. But it’s true. He does. Completely.

‘Completely fucked,’ he murmurs to himself. Because he’s almost 90% certain he has a break up letter in his hands. Or at least an invitation to a break up. What else could ‘we need to talk’ even mean? Wasn’t that statement the universal signifier for ‘I’m going to break up with you’?

Break up. The term might be more acceptable if they ever got together. Harry doesn't even know what they’re doing. _Are_ they together? Are they just fucking? Was Harry a simple diversion until Draco got his life together? Now that he’s back in the Manor, does he want someone finer, someone more ‘upscale’ to go with his decor?

Harry closes his eyes. ‘Stop being ridiculous.’

He stands and grabs his cloak and a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle.

He’s Gryffindor, after all, isn’t he? Time to act like one.

 

 

:::

Draco’s nervous. Harry can tell. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping. He’d been pacing in front of the fireplace when Harry stepped through, and he started slightly when Harry approached him.

‘I thought you’d be here later tonight,’ was all he said.

Harry’s stomach sinks. Definitely a break-up letter after all.

He swallows his pride and decides to speak first. Maybe he might even save face a little. he could pretend that the whole thing was just a fling. That he didn’t care anyway what happened.

It hurts so much more than it did with Terry. Terry was nothing. It was simple betrayal. but this. This is heartbreak.

Merlin, he’s turning into a maudlin sap already.

‘Draco,’ he says. ‘Maybe we should just get this over with. Whatever it is you’ve brought me here to say.’

Draco licks his lips and his Adam's apple bobs.

Harry takes a shallow breath, trying to exude an image of calm when his mind is racing with the possibilities. Is he seeing someone else? Was it all a joke? A prank maybe? A-

‘Don’t you want some food or something? Dibly can get anything you like.’

Harry folds his arms across his chest. ‘Draco, if you’re going to break-up with me, you don’t need to feed me first.’

Draco lifts his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Break up with you... ?’

Harry scowls and shifts his stance. Sweat begins to bead at the base of his spine. He can’t believe he’s back here again.

‘Okay, you’re right,’ he says. ‘Maybe break up isn’t the right word, since we weren’t even...’ He gestures vaguely, and Draco steps forward and catches his hand.

‘Harry, I’m not trying to break up with you,’ he says softly.

Harry pulls away his hand, annoyed and flustered. ‘Then, what the hell? I’ve been on edge all day because of you. What’s going on?’

Draco looks away quickly and swallows a few times. Harry, notices for the first time that Draco looks smaller, as if he’s lost a bit of weight. His eyes look tired. Harry’s heart begins to pound.

‘Draco,’ he says slowly. ‘Is this about you being sick? Is it something serious?’

Draco shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘ That’s not it.’

He seems to rally himself and then he squares his shoulders and takes a determined step towards Harry.

‘It’s about us,’ Draco says. ‘Remember the first time we were together?’

‘You mean, when I fucked you up against my wall?’ Harry’s mouth curves into a smile that Draco doesn’t return. ‘Vaguely, yes.’

‘I seduced you,’ Draco says very quickly. ‘It wasn’t real.’

Harry laughs, even though he really doesn't feel like laughing at all. The look in Draco’s eyes-- ‘I’m pretty sure it was real, Draco. And I’m sure I was a willing participant.’

‘No, Harry, I tricked you,’ Draco says. ‘I fucked you because I used a potion to have your baby so you would be forced to support me for the rest of your life.’

The words roll out of Draco’s mouth almost too quickly for Harry to process.

‘You-- what?’

‘I’m pregnant, Harry. With your baby. All because I thought that was what I needed to get you to give me my life back. But, you’ve gone and done it anyway, and I’ve deceived you, and I’m sorry, because the stupid part is, I actually fell for you along the way.’

Harry’s stomach begins to churn restlessly. ‘You’re pregnant,’ he says.

‘Yes.’

‘You planned this. All of it. From the beginning.’

Draco’s nods. ‘Yes.’

Harry steps away from him, looking around the room as if searching for someone to jump out and say ‘Aprils Fools!’, but, no one does.

‘You fucking shit,’ he murmurs breathlessly. ‘Was _any_ of it real?’

‘Yes! Harry. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It was real. I just --can’t take back how it all started.’

‘I’m supposed to trust that, am I?’ Harry scoffs. ‘You’re a liar. Everything you say. Everything you said... ’

‘Harry, please, just listen--’

Harry looks at him sharply. ‘When you came to me that night, did you really need my help? Did Pansy kick you out?’

Draco shakes his head. ‘No,’ he whispers. ‘We planned that, too. It was her idea, you see? And I saw you that day in St. Mungo’s and you gave me your card…’

Harry doubles over, gripping his kneecaps. ‘Oh my god. _Oh my god_. I’m such an idiot.’

‘No, Harry. No. You’re not,’ Draco says stepping forward and reaching out tentatively. Harry neatly evades him, and Draco pulls his hand away.

‘I’m the idiot,’ Draco continues. ‘I should have told Pansy where to get off with her ridiculous idea. I shouldn’t have taken the potion. I should have told you the truth.’

Harry shakes his head. His stomach keeps plummeting down and down, and it feels as if there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He might very well be sick, right here in Malfoy manor. On Malfoy’s Persian rugs no less. He makes a small sound in between a laugh and sob. ‘I can’t believe I fell for it.’

‘Harry... ’

Harry finally looks up at him. Draco’s eyeing him with such a raw, open expression. that Harry wonders where he learned to act so well. Was it part of a pureblood education perhaps? Lessons in drama. Lessons to perfect the look of the broken hearted.

Where the tears slowly streaming down Malfoy’s face part of the show, too? Or was it an extra bit he decided to add to his repertoire? Malfoy was always so _good_ at tears. That one night when Harry held him close when Draco cried for his mother, because he couldn’t find her, he didn’t know whether she was alive or dead, and Harry kissed his cheeks and told him it would be okay. That he would open an investigation into her case. Was it all lies? Was his mother here, alive and well in the mansion? Part of the scheme? Was Lucius in on it, too? Was this why Draco asked him to stay away? So he could celebrate with Pansy and his parents without Harry interrupting?

Was Draco fucking Pansy?

It’s all too much. Too many things are whirling around in his mind.

‘You’re good, Malfoy,’ he says. ‘Did you know that? You’re a class-A fuck. A real pro. Did Pansy teach you all that?’

Draco flinches. He actually physically flinches. No one could be _that_ good, could they?

Surely, some part of it was real?

‘Did she teach you all the words to say to me? _Oh, Harry. Right there. Harder_.’ Harry scoffs. ‘You whored yourself to me... and for what? What was your plan, Malfoy?’

‘It was a stupid plan--’

‘What _was_ the plan?’ Harry repeats. When he takes a deep breath again it hitches painfully in his chest. Something dawns on him, and he pins Draco in his gaze.

‘Did you know I’d be protective of my kid because of the way I was raised? Is that why you chose me? Because of what happened to me?’

Draco licks his lips. ‘Pansy knew you’d never abandon your child.’

‘ _You fucked up little shits._ You’d use my childhood against me like that? You? After what I told you? When you know how fucked up I am because of what they did? Why?’

Draco shakes his head quickly. ‘I didn’t know about them before, Harry I swear. I would never do that to you. I couldn’t follow through. Don’t you see?’

Harry’s magic starts to rise to the surface like steam. He clenches his fist in an effort to calm himself.

‘Why not?’ he asks.

The jar of Floo powder on the mantle begins to rattle, and Draco’s eyes flick to it nervously.

‘When did it get so hard for you to fuck me over?’ Harry asks.

‘When I fell for you, Harry. That’s when. I just made the wrong choices.’

‘You do that quite a lot,’ Harry says.

The jar explodes with a deafening crack and Draco closes his eyes briefly. ‘Yes, I do,’ he says. ‘Harry, you need to calm down.’

‘Calm down? What the fuck are you going to do about it, Malfoy?’

‘Nothing. I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret.’

Harry takes a few shallow breaths and tries to will his magic under control. It wants to lash out at Draco, and the agent of his hurt, but Draco’s right about regret. It’s not in his nature to inflict pain. It never has been, and he doesn’t want to hurt the baby.

The baby.

Christ. ‘How far along are you?’

‘Seven weeks.’

Harry looks down at his hands, flexing them slowly, trying to ease the tension in his body.

‘Have you been to a Healer?’ he asks without looking up.

‘Yes.’

Harry bites his lower lip. His throat is starting to close up, but no. He will not allow himself to experience the complete humiliation of breaking down in front of Draco Malfoy.

‘Is it okay?’ he murmurs. ‘I mean.. the baby. Will it be okay?’

‘The baby’s fine.’

Harry clenches his fist again, forcing himself to meet Draco’s gaze. ‘And you?’

Draco smiles faintly. ‘I’m all right. Just nauseous most of the time.’

Harry nods. ‘Right,’ he says, remembering Draco’s frequent trips to the bathroom. God he was such an _idiot_ for not realising what this was.. ‘But that’s normal, I expect. I remember with Hermione... ’

Draco steps forward, and Harry flinches away from him.

He reaches into his sleeve for his wand. ‘I can’t do this, Draco,’ he says. ‘I have to go.’

‘Harry, I’m sorry about--my intentions. But I swear to you, it was real. All of it.’

Harry swallows down the lump in his throat with considerable effort. ‘You don’t get to say I’m sorry and make it better, Draco. Not for this. You used me. And I – really liked you.’

‘Harry, I--’

Harry holds up his hand. ‘I don’t want to hear it,’ he says. ‘Just-- give me some time, or something.’

Draco nods and looks down at the floor.

Harry takes a deep breath, and Disapparates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 ½ months later

 

 

Harry’s still at home, late for work again because he was drunk the night before. He tends to drink alone now, since Ron doesn’t come out with him anymore. He thinks Harry should either “get his head out of the bottle, or forgive Malfoy for whatever it he’s done and get it over with.”

He hasn’t told them the truth. He doesn’t know why. He knows that Ron would be more likely to give him time to get over things if he does, but admitting the truth would be admitting defeat, in a way. Owning his utter humiliation. Ron would be right about Malfoy’s schemes, and Harry would be the same. Alone.

When he wakes he puts on the coffee maker, trying to ignore the memories of Draco handing him a perfect cup in the mornings, or the way sometimes Draco would kiss him on the forehead and push the coffee cup into his hands when Harry was still bleary eyed and incoherent.

The Floo roars to life, and Hermione calls out, asking him to step through. He absently says yes, running his hand through his now overgrown hair, and scratching his beard. He’s decided to let it grow for a while. Hermione says he’s trying to hide beneath it (which of course, he denies,) but secretly he thinks she might be onto something.

Hermione steps into the kitchen as he’s pouring his coffee, a look of apprehension etched into her features. He glances up at her while he leans against the worktop, blowing into his coffee mug to cool it.

‘Just spit it out, Hermione,’ he says.

Wordlessly, she drops the _Prophet_ onto the countertop, and he smoothes his fingers over it to read the headline.

 

 

_‘Potter Abandons Baby!’_

The story continues in similar fashion, implying that Harry’s abandoned his unborn child and it’s other father. That the recent return of the Malfoy estate to Draco was a pay off. That he used Draco for sex then abandoned him when he became pregnant.

The coffee cup in his hand breaks clean in two and the hot liquid burns his palm and fingers.

He shakes out his hand. ‘Fuck!’

Hermione quickly waves her wand and a cooling sensation covers his hand immediately. She quickly cleans the spill and fixes his coffee mug, banishing it to the sink.

‘I thought you were seeing that Healer about you magic,’ she asks.  
‘I stopped.’

Hermione lifts her eyebrows. ‘Well, maybe you should rethink that,’ she says gently.

Harry stares at her incredulously. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything about this?’ he asks, gesturing to the article.

‘I don’t know what to say, Harry.’

‘You don’t actually believe this, do you?’

Hermione gives him a look. ‘Of course I don’t,’ she says, exasperated. ‘But I’m disappointed you didn’t say anything to us.’

Harry looks away.

‘Is Draco really pregnant?’

Harry grabs the _Prophet_ from the worktop, wads it into a ball and tosses it in the rubbish under the sink before turning to answer her.

‘Yes.’

‘Did you break up because of it?’

Harry hesitates. For a brief moment he considers telling her, only for the relief it would give him to be able to talk about this with someone else. Hermione might be able to help him figure out what was _real_ and what wasn’t- because, for the life of him, Harry can’t seem to make out the difference.

He spends hours staring into space, remembering things and trying to sort them into the ‘real’ or ‘fake’ categories. Like the times when Harry fucked him, and Draco would wrap his arms around Harry’s neck and hold on to him and kiss his temples softly, and Harry would feel like his heart was melting into Draco’s. Was that real? Or was it part of the whole scheme?

But telling Hermione would be admitting that she was right to distrust Draco and inexplicably, after everything, he still wants to defend Draco. He wants his closest friends to like the man he loves.

Loved.

‘I told him I needed some time to think.’

Hermione chews her bottom lip. ‘Would he have gone to the press?’

A few months ago, Harry would have said ‘no’ without a doubt. But this is probably because he’s as naïve as he is stupid.

Instead he shrugs. ‘I’ll find out, though,’ he says.

He scratches his beard. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Hermione. I’ve got to get ready for work.’

Hermione gives him a guilty glance. ‘I think you better read this. ‘

She hands him an envelope from the pocket on her robe and he rips it open, his eyes quickly scanning the parchment.

‘I’m suspended?’ he asks incredulously.

‘Not, suspended,’ Hermione puts in quickly. ‘Robards is giving you time off.’

_‘For what?’_

‘To sort yourself out.’

Harry looks up and her and then he scowls. ‘Did you put him up to this?’

Hermione flushes. ‘No, I didn’t, Harry. But I understand why they’ve done it. You’ve been slipping. You’re drinking too much, you’re always late for work. You’ve lost case files…’

‘That was one time, Hermione!’

Hermione touches his arm lightly. ‘You need a break. That’s all. You can visit the Healer about your magic. Maybe you can sort this thing out with Draco. I mean. You’re going to have a baby, Harry. How do you feel about that?’

Leave it to Hermione to hammer on the one thing he doesn’t want to think about.

The baby growing inside of Draco is his. There’s something magical about that. A piece of him inside Draco’s, growing every day. He’s often wondered what it would look like. Would it have Draco’s hair, Harry’s fingers, Draco's’ smile? Was it a boy or girl? Would Draco let him see the baby? Be a part of its life?

‘I don’t know how I feel, Hermione.’

Hermione frowns. ‘You need to talk to him, Harry. At least figure out what you’re going to do about the baby.’

Harry studies the floor. ‘How long is my suspension?’

‘Paid leave,’ Hermione corrects. ‘Three months.’

Harry clenches his jaw. ‘Fine then.’

‘Harry--’

‘Hermione, I think you should go.’

Hermione opens her mouth to say something, then apparently decides against it.

She hugs him quickly and then steps away. ‘Ron and I are both here if you need us,’ she says. Then she Disapparates.

Harry grabs coffee mug he’d been drinking from –the green one Draco always favoured- and hurls across the room. The resultant loud crash allows him a brief, grim satisfaction.

 

 

:::

‘Did you go to the press?’ It’s the first thing Harry says when he steps out of the Floo into Draco’s bedroom in the Manor.

Draco’s sitting at the ledge of his bay window, dressed in a t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms looks at him, and his mouth drops open in surprise.

‘Harry?’

‘Answer the question, Malfoy. Did you go to the press?’

Draco shakes his head, eyes wide. ‘No. I swear I didn’t.’

‘You swear? Well, I suppose that’s all right then. As long as you swear.’

Draco stands up slowly, and walks towards him, palms raised. ‘Harry, I didn’t.’

Harry steps back, and Draco stops a few paces away.

‘Is this what you wanted?’ Harry asks. ‘To humiliate me?’

‘No!’

‘Then what, Draco? What? Is this revenge?’

‘Yes. No! I wanted revenge, but I didn’t want this! I haven’t spoken to anyone, Harry, I swear.’

Harry looks around the room, momentarily lost and confused. He ambles across to Draco’s bed and sits on top of the heavy quilt, trying not to remember the times he slept here with Draco in his arms.

‘I’m so fucked,’ he murmurs.

Draco sits beside to him. ‘Whatever they said, I’ll say it isn’t true. I’ll make a statement. I’ll do whatever you want.’ He reaches for Harry’s hand, but Harry pulls it out of reach. ‘Harry, I don’t know how this happened, but I’ll fix it.’

Harry sighs. ‘It was Pansy, Draco,’ he says softly.

Draco looks away. ‘She wouldn’t.’

‘She would. She’s a vicious little shit, and if I ever see her again, I’ll hex first and ask questions later.’

Draco’s eyes flick to Harry’s and then he quickly looks away again. ‘Let me deal with Pansy,’ he says. ‘I’ll fix this.’

‘You’re pregnant, Draco, there’s no undo button for that. Once they know that part’s true, they’ll assume everything else is.’ Harry run his palms along the length of his thighs. ‘They said I paid you off --that I used you for a fuck and then abandoned you with my baby.’ Harry laughs bitterly. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? They think _I_ used you.’

‘I’ll tell them the truth,’ Draco says softly. ‘I’ll tell them what I did.’

Harry rubs his face with his palms and then he sighs deeply. ‘No, don’t do that.’

‘It’ll be the truth.’

Harry watches him for a moment. Draco looks tired, and oddly remorseful. Harry isn’t sure what it means.

‘They’ll forgive me, eventually,’ Harry says. ‘They’ll never forgive you.’

Draco closes his eyes briefly, scratching his thumbnail across his lower lips the way he does when he’s distressed. ‘Do you want to undo it?’ he asks.

Harry looks at him, confused.

‘You said there’s no ‘undo’ button. What if there was? Would that be something that you wanted?’

Harry drops his gaze to Draco’s stomach. He can’t see any evidence of it yet, but beneath Draco’s skin is a life that he helped to make. A son, or a daughter. A person.

When he considers it carefully, terminating the pregnancy wasn’t something that ever even occurred to him.

He shakes his head slowly. ‘No,’ he whispers. ‘It isn’t.’

Draco sighs in obvious relief. ‘I’m glad,’ he says, pressing his palm against his stomach. ‘It’s strange, but, I feel somehow... connected to the baby already.’ Draco smiles faintly. ‘It’s probably all in my head, but there you have it.’

Harry looks down at Draco’s palm pressed against his stomach, imagining what it will look like in a few months swollen and heavy with his child. The image is more pleasurable than he thought it would be.

‘You can touch it if you like,’ Draco says. ‘I’m only three months, so nothing’s really there, but if you want... you can.’ Draco reaches for Harry's hand, and begins directing it to his stomach, but halfway there, Harry pulls away.

‘I can’t,’ Harry says.

Draco’s expression falters and then he nods quickly. ‘All right,’ he murmurs.

Draco bites his lower lip and Harry forces himself to look away. He stands and looks down at Draco, trying to decide if the expression on his face is real, or if it’s all just another deception. He wonders if there'll ever be a time when he could look at Draco and just accept all of his mannerisms, his words, and his touch as truth.

‘You know the really fucked up part?’ he says. ‘I still want you, Draco.’

Draco looks up. ‘So do I, Harry.’

Harry pulls his wand from his sleeve. ‘I have to go.’

Draco nods woodenly and Harry Disapparates.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry doesn’t know what time it is or even _where_ he is exactly. He’s in London, he knows that much. In a Wizard’s pub of some sort, because almost everyone has their robes draped across the back of their chairs, and there’s a wizarding wireless streaming the Weird Sister’s latest hit.

He’s not sure how many he’s had. Enough so that his face feels numb and his grip on his glass is beginning to slip. When someone sits in the seat next to him, Harry barely registers it, but when the bloke buys him a drink and slides it across the bartop, Harry finally looks up.

‘It’s on me,’ the bloke says, eyeing Harry in a way that makes his intentions obvious. He’s fairly attractive, with light brown curls, pale blue eyes, and a dimple in his cheek.

Harry nods and downs the drink, a smoky scotch, with one gulp. ‘Cheers.’

‘I’m Evan,’ the bloke says, leaning in closer.

‘Harry.’ Harry reaches out his hand and Evan blushes a little.

‘I know who you are,’ Evan says. ‘Didn’t know you played for my team ‘till that story in the _Prophet_ though.’

Harry grunts and fiddles with his glass. ‘Read that did you? Loads of rubbish you know.’

Evan shrugs and takes a sip of his lager. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he says. ‘You know, I fucked him once.’

Harry looks at him sharply. ‘What did you say?’

Eva leers at him. ‘Didn’t know that, did you? That he was a whore? Don’t worry, Harry, I think you treated him just fine. Fuck what the papers say.’

Harry gapes at Evan, taking longer than usual to wrap his mind around the words being said. ‘You fucked him?’

Even moves in closer to him. ‘Well, if you’re going to be technical, I only sucked him off. But I could tell he wanted it, you know?’ Evan reaches between his legs and adjusts his cock in his trousers. ‘I would have paid him for more. I wanted to turn him over and plow that sweet arse of his. Did you top him? What did it—’

Harry snatches the beer bottle Evan’s hand and smashes it upside his head. Evan falls from his stool onto the floor, clutching his bleeding head, looking up at Harry with watery eyes.

‘What the fuck-!’

Harry drops on his knees and starts pummelling Evan until someone hooks their arms around his shoulders and pulls him off. Some other wizard decks him so hard, Harry thinks his jaw might be broken. Another wizard kicks him hard in the ribs until someone, the owner most likely yells for everyone to stop.

‘Or I’ll call the bloody Aurors on ye!’

Harry is roughly shoved aside and lands on his back. He laughs softly, drunkenly at the irony of it all.

He turns over and spits blood from his mouth onto the floor, and someone grabs his arm and pulls him up. ‘Come on, mate. Out with ye.’

It’s the owner again. Harry Potter, Saviour of the wizarding world is being kicked out of a pub. A giggle works its way out of his mouth and Harry claps his hand over his lips.

He wipes the blood from his mouth and staggers out into the cold.

Fucking Malfoy.

He wants to see him. He wants to fuck him into the mattress. He wants to punch his face in.

But the baby... The baby’s five months along now. Harry knows this because he’s marked the dates on his calendar.

‘Fuck it,’ he murmurs. Then he takes a deep breath to help him concentrate and Disapparates to Draco’s bedroom in the Manor.

He lands face first on the rug next to Draco’s bed. It’s a miracle he didn’t splinch himself.

He groans, scratching his nails into the carpet and trying to push himself over. He rolls onto his back and looks around. Draco’s room is empty.

For some reason, he begins to laugh, when really, it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

He pushes himself up and leans his back against Draco’s bed. Draco must be out with Pansy, celebrating... or—

The door to Draco’s bedroom opens, and the object of his thought steps in. Harry’s treacherous heart soars.

‘Oh my God,’ Draco says, rushing to Harry side. ‘The wards, said you were here, but.... oh my God. Look at you, what the fuck? Are you okay?’

He reaches out, patting Harry down as if checking for broken bones. Harry winces when Draco touches his side and he pulls away slightly.

Harry grabs his arm. ‘You used me. Why?’

Draco sighs, leaning back on his haunches. ‘Because I’m a shitty person,’ he responds shortly. ‘Are we really going to do this now? You’re bleeding all over my carpet.’

Harry lets Draco lift him up and set him on the bed, and Draco sits next to him and cleans the blood off his face with his wand.

‘You’ve been drinking,’ Draco murmurs, lifting up Harry’s shirt to check the damage, healing most of the bruises with a flick of his wand.

‘Yes.’

Draco touches Harry’s chest with his fingertips he jumps. Draco looks up sharply. ‘Did that hurt?’

Harry shakes his head slowly, and then he reaches out and places his hand on Draco’s slightly swollen stomach.

‘It’s growing,’ he says.

Draco nods.

Harry sighs and drops his hand. ‘You’re not a shitty person, Draco,’ he says. ‘You just do shitty things. A lot. To me.’

Draco brushes Harry’s hair off of his forehead. ‘I’m sorry.’

Harry pushes himself up on his elbow, and traces the hem of Draco’s shirt with his fingertips. ‘Show me,’ he says softly.

Draco’s cheeks turn red. ‘Why? I’m fat. It’s disgusting.’

‘You’re gorgeous and you know it. Show me. I want to see our baby inside you.’

Draco gives him a long, measured look and then he pulls off his t-shirt.

Harry sits up fully and rests his palms on Draco’s swollen stomach. He traces the dark line beneath Draco’s navel up the scarce downy-soft hairs on Draco’s chest with his fingertips.

‘Five months,’ Draco whispers.

‘I know.’

‘In another few months I’ll resemble a small whale.’

Harry shakes his head. ‘You’re beautiful.’

Draco’s expression softens. ‘And here I thought you hated me.’

‘I could never hate you, Draco. Believe me, I’ve tried.’

Draco combs his finger through the thick hairs at Harry’s nape and pulls their foreheads together. ‘Then stop punishing me,’ he says against Harry’s lips. Harry places a small kiss there, and Draco arches into him. _‘Please.’_

Harry kisses Draco again, sighing into his mouth. He wants to climb into Draco’s skin. He pushes Draco gently down onto the bed and leans over him, with his palms flat on either side of Draco’s head.

His buries his face in the space beneath Draco’s chin and Draco wraps his arm around Harry’s neck. He lifts his chin, exposing the curve of his Adam’s apple to Harry’s lips. Harry dots kisses along Draco’s neck then on Draco’s cheek. He breathes in the soft scent of Draco’s hair, embarrassed by the flood of emotions it brings. His voice is thick when he says Draco’s name beneath his breath.

Draco reaches down and unbuckles Harry's trousers, pushing them down with shaky movements.

Harry closes his fingers around Draco’s wrist. ‘Are you sure this is okay? For the baby, I mean.’

Draco nods. ‘It’s fine, Harry,’ he says softly. ‘The baby will be fine.’

Harry stands quickly, stripping down as fast as he can. He grasps Draco's thighs, pulling him to the edge of the bed where he sucks his finger into his mouth. Draco’s hole isn’t clenched as he expected. It’s slightly lubed up and Harry stops short, ready to step away.

Draco reaches for his forearm. ‘I was wanking today, that's all. There’s no one else, Harry.’

Harry doesn’t know if he believes it, but he strokes his cock anyway and pushes into Draco’s hot, tight hole. Draco’s head drops back against the sheets.

‘Gods, Harry.’

Harry doesn’t have the finesse or the stamina to make this last. It’s been too long, and he’s drunk and he just wants to relish the sensation of being inside Draco again.

He grabs Draco’s leg and kisses the arch of Draco’s foot, fucking him with deep, long strokes. Draco clenches down on Harry’s cock each time he pulls out and Harry bucks his hips, gripping Draco’s thighs, loving the way Draco keeps arching his back and making small whimpering sounds. Draco grips Harry’s arse in his palms and Harry reaches for Draco’s cock, stroking the hard length in time with his thrusts.

‘Fuck, Harry. Yes.’

Harry thumbs the head of Draco’s cock, teasing the slit and Draco arches off the bed, gripping the bed sheets. When Draco groans and spills thick semen onto Harry’s fingers, it pushes Harry over the edge and he comes hard. He pulls out, wanting to watch his come land on Draco’s hole. Harry rubs the head of his cock against Draco’s quivering hole, spreading his come around before plunging in again, and riding out the last few seconds of his orgasm buried in Draco's arse.

He pulls out and collapses beside Draco, breathing heavily. Draco rolls to the side and hooks his leg across Harry’s body.

Harry likes the feel of Draco’s pregnant belly pressed up against his side more than he thought he would.

Draco absently plays with his nipples. ‘You shaved your beard,’ he says.

‘Hermione hated it. Said I looked like an inmate.’

‘Pity,’ Draco whispers. ‘It turned me on.

Harry smiles and turns to face him. Draco's hair is in complete disarray, some parts stuck to his forehead with sweat. His skin is beautifully flushed, lips bruised red. Harry’s struck by the wave of affection he feels for this man. Still.

When Draco leans forward to press a soft kiss on Harry’s scar, Harry takes his hand and threads his fingers together. They lay in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Draco’s long fingers toying with the flat hairs on Harry’s chest.

‘Is this real?’ Harry whispers into the darkness.

For a few seconds, Draco stops breathing, and then he plants a kiss onto Harry’s chest.

‘Yes, Harry,’ he says, his voice thick. ‘This is real.’

Harry closes his eyes and drifts into sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I’m six months pregnant today._

_I think about you all the time. I’m sorry you left that morning. When I woke up and you weren’t there, it hurt. I’m sorry you still can’t forgive me._

_I’m sending you something with this. Muggles call it a sonogram. I know you probably already know this, but Granger reached out to me, and we’ve been occasionally having tea. She was the one who told me about it, and luckily she knows a Muggleborn who doesn’t faint at the sight of pregnant men. So, here it is, Harry. Our baby’s first picture. They told me I could learn the baby’s gender, but I don’t want to. I know you’d want to be surprised._

_There’s so much I want to say to you, if only you’d talk to me. That’s all I ask. Just talk to me, Harry._

_I love you._

_\--Draco._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

_Congratulations. We’re even. You’ve hurt me, I’ve hurt you._

_You'd be pleased to know that Hermione ceased all contact with me after you told your friends what really happened._

_She was my only friend, did you know that? The only person I could talk to about this besides my house elves._

_I did what you asked. I cut Pansy out of my life. You were right. She was the one who went to the press. She did it to get you to talk to me again._

_She cried when I led her out of the Manor. I gave her money of course, not even I’m that cruel, but I stopped all communication. For you._

_The Healer says the baby is under stress, but fine. He’s got me on potions that leave me fuzzy and raw and I guess that’s why I’m writing this right now._

_You’ve hurt me, Harry, by making me go through this alone when I need you. I know I deserve it, but isn’t it enough now?_

_I love you, I know you feel the same._

_Please stop punishing me._

_\--Draco_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Dear Harry,_

_We’re seven months pregnant today._

_Lucius found Mother alone in a hospital in Prague. They thought she was crazy. Dad’s brought her back to St Mungo’s to see a Mind Healer there. You’ll not have seen this in the papers though because I’ve paid a lot of money to keep it that way._

_She looks lost, Harry. I’ve never seen her eyes look so dead before. She doesn’t recognise me. When I saw her, I spent the whole time wishing you were there to hold my hand or_ something _to help me get through it. But you weren’t._

 _Someone wanted to run a piece in the_ Prophet _about that bar brawl of yours and I caught wind of it and paid them off._

_My father still has some contacts you see._

_They also wanted to run some photos they caught of you getting sucked off in a back alley behind some shithole club in London._

_He might be blond, but he looks nothing like me, Harry. And yes, it hurt like hell to see those photos, but I suppose that was the point._

_Tell me something; is this all part of your scheme to properly punish me, or have you moved on?_

_Should I move on, too?_

_What about our baby?_

_\--Draco_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Draco,_

_I’ve been a bastard. I know it. I love you. You know I do. I think about you and the baby every day. I just needed space._

_I don’t trust people, Draco. You know why. And you betrayed me. It’s one of the few things I find the hardest to forgive._

_You’re right, I have been punishing you, but I’ve also been punishing myself, and even Hermione says it has to stop._

_She’s still on your side, you know. I asked her not to see you, but she still brings you up all the time. She thinks you’re in love with me. She keeps telling me that people make mistakes --that I need to move on. She’s right._

_And I’m trying._

_The pictures—thank you for what you did. I was drunk and I was lonely, and he looked like you and he didn’t mind if called him Draco. Those are the only reasons. Nothing more. He doesn’t mean anything to me. You do._

_You and the baby._

_Just give me a little more time._

_Please._

_-H_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Harry,_

_I need you now. It’s too soon, but the baby is coming._

_The healer looks worried._

_Harry please. Hurry._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Draco’s already in love with the tiny, squalling thing in his arms. He holds his son’s tiny fist in his arms and sighs softly.

Harry didn’t come.

The Healers rushed him through an emergency procedure where they cut his son out of his stomach, and still, Harry hasn’t shown.

Draco kisses his son’s forehead, and closes his eyes.

‘What’s your name, darling?’ he says softly.

He starts to doze just a little before the commotion outside his private room makes him jump. He looks down at his son who stirs slightly before settling down again. The door bangs open and Harry, completely sodden and dishevelled, dressed in random pieces of Quidditch gear bounds into the room. When his eyes clap on Draco’s he rushes straight to the bed, his gaze torn between staring at his son and staring at Draco.

The hope that never died swells in his chest. ‘You came.’

Harry looks down at his baby with an awed expression. A bead of water pools at the edge of his nose.

‘Of course I came,’ he says. ‘I was on assignment. I didn’t get your owl.’

He looks at Draco anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I am now.’

Harry leans down and kisses on the forehead.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says.

‘Enough sorrys,’ Draco murmurs. ‘Do you want to hold him?’

‘It’s a boy,’ Harry whispers.

Draco nods, and smiles. ‘Maybe if you use your wand to dry yourself off, you can hold your son.’

Harry makes a small sound, and then he pulls his wand from his sleeve to clean himself up. When he stows his wand away again he fiddles nervously with his sleeve. ‘I don’t know how...’

‘Don’t worry,’ Draco says sitting up, wincing slightly when the newly-healed skin on his stomach stretches.

Harry notices and reaches for his elbow, helping him settle himself. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Harry says, his eyes wide and anxious.

‘I’m fine, Harry,’ Draco says. ‘Now hold your arms out...’ Draco shifts and places his son into Harry’s arms.

Harry gingerly shifts the small bundle into a comfortable position, and then he straightens up. His eyes are fixed on his son’s tiny face, as if trying to take everything in at once.

‘Watch his head,’ Draco murmurs, and Harry tenderly adjusts the baby in his arms.

‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘Just like his dad.’

Harry grins. ‘Narcissist.’

‘I meant you, you wanker,’ Draco says with a laugh.

Harry smiles broadly at him, and Draco’s chest feels as if it will burst with happiness.

‘The runes on his arm are monitoring spells,’ he says. ‘He’s all right, but we’ll have to keep an eye on him.’

Harry nods, still staring at his son. He gently strokes the head of dark blond curls and his son stirs. ‘What will we call him?’ Harry whispers.

‘I was thinking we could name him James, after your father.’

Harry looks up, startled. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. ‘It’s perfect, Draco, thank you.’

James stirs in Harry’s arms and Harry looks down at him, his face wrinkled with worry.

‘Here,’ he says, handing James over to Draco. ‘Maybe you should hold him.’

Draco takes him carefully and James stares up at Draco calmly sucking on his tiny fists. Harry leans over them both and presses a kiss to Draco’s forehead.

Draco turns and catches Harry’s mouth with his lips.

‘I love you,’ Harry whispers.

Draco swallows thickly. ‘I love you, too.’

They both look down at James, who gazes up at them, completely unaware of his significance.

‘I don’t know where he got those eyes from,’ Draco murmurs softly. ‘No one in my family’s ever had hazel eyes.’

‘My father,’ Harry whispers against Draco’s cheek. He reaches out and tenderly strokes James’ hair.

‘They’re my father’s eyes.’

 

 

 

_fin_


End file.
